


starlight starbright (if you wanna kiss the sky, better learn how to kneel)

by softlyforgotten



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco, The Young Veins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-22
Updated: 2010-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-22 22:36:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/243333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softlyforgotten/pseuds/softlyforgotten





	starlight starbright (if you wanna kiss the sky, better learn how to kneel)

It’s almost completely dark in Wall. The streetlamps have all been lit, sending down bright pools of light on the cobbled stones below, and the lights shine out the windows of the houses, warm and inviting. A little way up the road there is a sudden low, bubbling murmur of voices and bad music spilling out into the night where someone has opened the door to the tavern. Ryan Ross shoves his hands in the pockets of his coat and rolls his eyes.

“It’s not true,” he says.

“It _is_ ,” Spencer insists. “Every twenty-five years—”

“Every twenty-five years,” Ryan scoffs. “It’s a _fair_ , not a comet, for God’s sake. Twenty-five years, fuck’s—”

“It used to be every fifteen,” Spencer says, “only—”

“Yeah, I know.” Ryan adjusts his hat, his scarves, and cuts Spencer an amused glance. “And before that it used to be every nine, and before that every three, and once upon a time, a long, long time ago—”

“Every year,” Spencer says firmly, nodding his head. “That’s right. And next year will be the twenty-fifth. Next year it’s time for the fair again.”

“Isn’t eighteen a bit too old to still believe in fairytales?” Ryan asks, dryly. “The myths about the Wall are a load of bullshit, Spence. The _fair_ is even more bullshit.”

“It’s _real_ ,” Spencer says. “My parents remember it.”

“What your parents remember, and everyone else over the age of twenty-five, is probably nothing more than a hokey little country town fair with a couple of streamers and some old lady manning a herb stall.”

Spencer stares at him, lips twitching. “Hokey?” he says. “Really?” Ryan glares at him (“It’s a word!”) and Spencer laughs, clear in the early evening. “Don’t be so bitchy, dude. You know you’re only pissed because you still can’t get Pete Wentz to even _look_ at you.”

“I’m not pissed!” Ryan hisses, and gives Spencer a cross look. “I’m just sick of everyone making such a big deal about the Wall and not crossing it and all that crap. They honestly think they’re going to find the Land of Faerie out there? Jesus.” Spencer glances at him, quick and amused, and Ryan groans, rubbing his face with his hands. “I don’t know _why_ he won’t,” Ryan admits, grumpily. “I’m much more attractive than Patrick Stump. Wittier, too. I don’t know what Pete sees in him.”

“Patrick’s awesome,” Spencer says immediately. “And kind of hotter than you, to be honest. It just takes a while to notice, is all. Have you _seen_ his mouth?”

“Shut up,” Ryan says, putting his hands over his ears. “Shut up, shut up, shut up. You’re my best friend, whose goddamn side are you on?”

“Anyway,” Spencer says blithely, “I don’t think it’s _Patrick_ you need to worry about. Patrick’s just Pete’s best friend.”

“Pete’s best friend who Pete talks about all the time,” Ryan points out. “And who he tries to cuddle with a lot. Pete’s best friend who Pete seems to think spent one of his free mornings creating the universe. And then some kittens.”

Spencer shrugs. “Maybe,” he says, “but I heard Pete had a kind of ridiculous crush – see, you two can relate to each other – on the youngest of the Misses Simpson’.”

“Oooh, _really_?” Ryan asks, perking up, and then realises that now is probably not the best time to indulge in some gossiping. He scowls, instead. “Wait, the red-haired wench? That’s not fair! She’s not even trying to get his attention!”

“Sources say,” Spencer confides in a low voice, “that Pete found her one night after she’d pinched one of her father’s horses, and she invited him along for a moonlit gallop.” He shrugs again. “Pete likes grand gestures. You can’t just slouch around him in tight jeans reading Chuck Palahniuk if you want to win his heart. You gotta do something _big_.”

Ryan sighs, shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’m just so bad at all that stuff,” he admits miserably. “I can’t ever think of anything.”

Spencer grins at him. “Sucks to be you, then.” Ryan swats him in the arm and Spencer laughs. “We crashing at Jon’s tonight?”

Ryan brightens. “Yeah, let’s,” he says. “I saw his little sister this afternoon, and she said he’d been baking again.”

Spencer beams, and then sobers. “Reckon Jon’ll ever realise we’re just using him for his special brownies?” he asks.

“Maybe,” Ryan answers, shrugging, “but not for another couple of years, I reckon.”

They walk along in comfortable silence. It’s really dark by now; the stars are out in full force above them, bright in their millions. Spencer finds a reasonably smooth stone and they kick it along between them for a while, until Ryan gets the angle wrong and kicks it away off the road, into the dark shrubbery, and their pace slows down again. Ryan’s mind wanders off into a daydream where he steals _all_ of the Simpson family’s horses and sweeps Pete up onto a white stallion, and Pete will think he’s totally awesome, and they can talk about – about poetry, and Pete won’t call Ryan “kid” even _once_ (and seriously, what’s with that? Ryan’s not _that_ much younger, and just because when he was nine he threw rocks at a sixteen year old Pete’s window and said Pete had to climb down the drainpipe because that’s what all good princesses do for their princes – well, Ryan was _nine_ , and he wishes people would stop bringing it up) and—

“ _Ryan_ ,” Spencer says, and punches him in the arm.

“Ow!” Ryan says, and glares.

Spencer makes a face at him. “Seriously, _listen_ to me once in a while, why don’t you.”

“I was!” Ryan says vehemently and untruthfully. “What is it?”

“Check out that star,” Spencer says, and points.

Up above them, one star is burning brighter than the rest, sending out huge beams of light, flashing brighter and then shrinking smaller, almost sending shadows down to the ground. It looks surprisingly close, and also kind of amazing; both of them stop and stare up at it. It glows, illuminating the sky and putting the rest of the night to shame; for a second even the moon looks pale and boring in comparison. Then it lets out one last pulse of light and abruptly starts tumbling towards the ground, faster and faster until its trail disappears over the horizon, past the Wall.

“Wow,” Ryan breathes.

“God,” Spencer agrees. He smiles suddenly, the quick, elfish one that makes him look younger and reminds Ryan of the rumour that there’s Faerie in the Smith family blood, from many generations ago. “Wouldn’t it be awesome if you could follow the trail and see it on the ground? A fallen star. Wow.” He smiles again and then, when there’s no reply, turns to look at Ryan.

Ryan, who is staring at him with an open mouth and huge eyes. “Oh my God,” he says. “Oh my God, Spencer, you’re a genius.”

“What?” Spencer asks uneasily. He’s not adverse to compliments but the way Ryan’s looking at him makes him nervous. “Why?”

Ryan beams, and then actually claps his hands together in delight. “You’re a _genius_ ,” he repeats, whirling forward to pull Spencer into a tight, quick hug. “That’s my grand gesture! I’m going to go get the star for Pete!”

“What?” Spencer repeats stupidly. “Ryan, it landed beyond the Wall!”

“I don’t believe in magic,” Ryan says, “or any of the stupid stuff about the Wall. Come on, Spence, I’m bringing the guy back a _fallen star_. Is there any way he won’t fall in love with me?”

“Maybe Pete doesn’t fall in love with crazy people,” Spencer suggests faintly. Ryan presents him with a grin, the biggest one he can summon up, and Spencer sighs, shoves his hands through his hair. “Fine,” he says. “Let’s go pack your stuff.”

*

Ryan packs seven of his favourite books, a flashlight, a blanket, three pairs of jeans and nine bandanas into his backpack. Spencer makes a neat pile of the things he thinks Ryan will need on Ryan’s bed and then sorts through Ryan’s gear, unpacking six of the books, the flashlight, two of the jeans, replaces the blanket with a sleeping bag, and gets rid of all of the bandanas. “Electrical gear doesn’t work beyond the Wall,” he says, “and you need food.” Ryan grudgingly accepts the various cans of food, can opener, bread and hummus and jumpers that Spencer packs, and then pulls out the sword he keeps in his closet and straps it around his waist.

Spencer pauses. “Ryan,” he says, “that’s from Halloween eight years ago. You know it’s plastic, right?”

“Yeah, but it _looks_ kinda dangerous,” Ryan says, and then sneakily unpacks some of Spencer’s so-called ‘useful’ items to make room for four of his neckerchiefs while Spencer goes to fetch Ryan’s toothbrush.

They go back outside and Ryan’s about to turn down onto the main road, towards the Wall, when Spencer puts out a hand and stops him. “Hey,” he says. “Hey, what are you doing?”

Ryan frowns at him. “Leaving? Remember the plan, Spence? Star, love, adventure, blah blah blah?”

“We have to pack my stuff first, moron,” Spencer says patiently, and Ryan blinks at him.

“Dude,” he says. “I’m going on a _quest_. And you’d be a really shitty sidekick.”

Spencer tilts his head to the side and narrows his eyes. “Are you saying you’re going alone?”

“Uh,” Ryan says. “Yes?”

“Yeah, not so much,” Spencer says. “Ryan, you’ll get eaten alive out there. This is _Faerie_ we’re talking about.”

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Ryan tells him impatiently. “There’s no such thing as magic—”

“Even if there _isn’t_ you’re still completely and stupidly hopeless on your own! Who will make sure you eat? Or sleep? Or—”

“Believe it or not, Spence, I am actually capable of surviving on my own for a while,” Ryan informs him. “Remember how you went on summer vacation last year? I didn’t die or anything _then_ —”

“No,” Spencer agrees. “But you were still in Wall, then, and also you wrote me a letter every day complaining about how bored you were.”

“In _Wall_ ,” Ryan says. “It’ll be different over there—”

“Thought you didn’t believe in magic?”

“I don’t!” Ryan almost yells, and then draws in a deep breath, looks at the ground and then at Spencer out of the corner of his eye. “Look,” he says. “Someone needs to stay here and tell people that I’ve – I don’t know, gone on some soul searching journey that’s not over the Wall, because otherwise everyone’s going to freak out.”

“We could leave a note,” Spencer says.

“And also make sure Pete doesn’t marry Ashlee while I’m gone,” Ryan continues. “And Pete’s likely to do that on a whim, you know. Seriously, Spence, you’ve got to help me out. I’ll be fine on my own. Really.”

Spencer glares at him. “This is stupid,” he says, but there’s no more logic and Ryan knows he’s won.

He grins. “There’s _nothing_ to worry about. I’ll just go get the star, and then you can be best man at me and Pete’s wedding. And we’ll get Jon to cater. It’ll be awesome.”

“And stupid,” Spencer mumbles vengefully, but they turn and walk towards the Wall together. A few metres away, Spencer turns to him and hugs Ryan so tight Ryan’s pretty sure he can feel a few ribs cracking, and says, “ _Eat_. And sleeping a bit would probably be good, too. And if any strange fairies, or witches, or _anything_ appear—”

“Don’t eat their food,” Ryan says, and hugs him back. “Got it.” He grins at Spencer, who smiles back reluctantly, and then walks up to the guards at the entrance into “Faerie” and talks quickly. They make a face but let him through – technically, they’re there to stop people coming _into_ the village, not to block villagers from getting through, so as much as they don’t like it, they have to let Ryan pass.

“Hey!” Spencer shouts, when Ryan’s still visible through the gap in the Wall. “Hey, good luck!”

Ryan turns around, grinning, and holds his sword up in salute. Then he disappears into the darkness.

*

It’s a warm, clear night and Ryan makes good time, walking briskly through the countryside. The air smells sweeter this side of the Wall, probably from the fresh, green grass, and it’s actually kind of nice. Ryan keeps himself on a western course, towards where they saw the star fall (just past the hills, Ryan thinks, if he’s calculating correctly) and hums old songs under his breath. At worst, it’s a little boring so he lets his mind wander, conjuring up elaborate fantasies about presenting Pete with a glittering, diamond-like thing, a real shooting star. Pete will probably swoon a little bit, Ryan thinks. Heroes’ true loves tend to do that a lot in the end of Ryan’s books, anyway. Ashlee Simpson and her red hair and her moonlit pony rides, Ryan thinks grimly, cannot compete. Ryan’s going to be a returning _hero_ , a wanderer from the far distant land of Faerie (and yeah, Ryan doesn’t believe in magic, but that won’t stop him from exploiting the fact that everyone _else_ in his dumb village does). He’ll have the most awesome prize of all to prove it, too.

He’s so deep in his thought (and maybe he’s humming the Wedding March but whatever, there’s no one else to hear him) that he doesn’t notice the forest until he reaches the first trees. And okay, it’s maybe a little bit frightening. It’s dark, and the trees look sort of ominous, huge trunks and branches that reach up into the sky, and twisting roots that look disturbingly able to trip Ryan up.

Ryan swallows hard, but the hills are past the forest and he needs to get over them to find the star, so it’s not like he has a choice. He says aloud to himself, “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” and shrugs his backpack up higher onto his shoulders, keeps walking.

After what he figures is a few hours of trudging through the forest (and stumbling a fair bit, but he only falls flat on his face twice which is, he supposes, a good thing) he’s starting to get pretty fucking exhausted, and his feet are aching so hard he thinks they’re close to falling off. He sets his pack down and rolls his sleeping bag out on a soft-looking patch of leaves, crawls in.

It’s probably dangerous and kind of stupid, to sleep out in the open, he thinks, eyes drifting closed. It’s probably really dumb, and Spencer will yell at him when he finds out about it for sure. Brigands could steal Ryan’s pack, or he could be eaten by wolves, or—

*

He wakes up to the unmistakable, shrill whistle of a kettle. He must have slept at Jon’s, he figures sleepily; his dad is never up this early on a Saturday. Maybe Jon is making coffee for them, he thinks happily, and of course it’s in that drowsy yet exceedingly joyous moment (because Ryan doesn’t think there’s a better way to wake up in the morning than with the knowledge that Jon Walker is making you coffee) that he remembers where he really is, and he sits up as fast as he can.

There’s three men sitting around a fire, breakfast dishes at their feet (Ryan smells the remains of bacon and eggs) and they all look kind of grumpy and also kind of weird. One of them, a lanky looking guy with glasses and a bird nest haircut looks over at him. “Oh,” he says, as though the sight of Ryan is the most tragic thing in the world. “It’s awake.”

“Oh!” Another man, with a cloud of black hair and a weirdly pointy nose looks up too, and beams at Ryan. “Hi! Are you an elf?”

“What?” Ryan says thickly, struggling to wake up and crawling to his feet. The two guys stare back at him curiously while the other one – a surly, blonde dude watching the kettle – continues to ignore him completely. He wonders if he should threaten them with his plastic sword. “Am I – _no_ , I’m not an elf! Who the fuck are you?”

“Oh,” the pointy-nosed one says, sounding vaguely disappointed. “Too bad. We haven’t seen an elf in ages, not since…” He trails off and looks expectantly at the thus-far silent blonde guy.

“Salpeter,” Blondie grunts, and takes the kettle off the fire (where, Ryan realises with a start, it has been _hovering_ above the flames. He blinks quickly, trying to clear the sleep dust from his eyes) and starts to make some coffee. The guy with glasses makes grabby hands at him.

“That’s right!” Pointy-Nose is back to beaming. He sounds very cheerful. Ryan’s head starts to hurt. “Greta and her friends. They’re lovely. Anyway, we just figured you might be, what with all the scarves and the flowers in your hair and the bracelets and stuff.”

“It is a perfectly fine choice,” Ryan says, coldly, “to be an ordinary human male and still wear flowers in your hair.”

“Oh, sure!” Pointy-Nose says earnestly. “We made Frankie a tiara out of dandelions the other day. It was cool.”

“Except then you cheated,” Blondie points out, sounding slightly more alert now that he’s drained half his cup of coffee, “and turned it into real gold after, like, an hour.”

Pointy-Nose looks guilty. “The flowers were wilting,” he protests.

Ryan stares. “Wait a moment,” he says. “You – you turned flowers into _gold_?”

“Well, yeah,” the guy says, shrugging. “I’m a magician. Gerard Way, sorry, hi,” he adds, and then points at the other two. “And that’s my brother Mikey, and that’s Bob. Frankie and Ray are still coming. Nice to meet you.”

Ryan has the feeling he’s slightly out of his depth. “I’m Ryan,” he says. “And, uh, dude? Magic doesn’t exist.”

Gerard stares solemnly at him and then gravely raises his hands and claps twice. Bob snorts into his coffee and Mikey leans forward and says, “Gee, I’m pretty sure you’re only meant to do that for fairies. And Barrie was exaggerating, anyway.”

“You can never be too careful,” Gerard says, and then a guy with the most amazing hair Ryan has ever seen and a smaller guy clinging to his back crash into the clearing. Judging by the gold tiara sitting crookedly in his dark curls, Ryan is guessing the smaller guy is Frankie, which means amazing-hair must be Ray. Ryan is proud that his deduction skills still seem to be functioning pretty well amongst all the crazy.

“Gerard,” Ray says, sounding weary, “we just got spotted by a bunch of baby deer—”

“Oooh! Fawns!” Mikey says, leaning forward. Everyone else ignores him.

“—and we reckon they’re going to come and go through our supplies if we don’t leave soon.” He levels a glare at Mikey. “This is what _happens_ when you feed every damn animal you come across, Michael Way,” he says sternly. Ryan has the horrible feeling he’s walked into a Disney movie.

Mikey shrugs. Gerard sighs. “Okay, let’s get a move on,” he says. He claps his hands, and suddenly all of their belongings – the tent that Ryan’s only just noticed, the remains of the campfire, the kettle and breakfast dishes – just disappear. Ryan gapes. He looks down; his sleeping bag is rolled up and packed away at his feet.

“Ryan, I think you’d better come with us for a while,” Gerard says kindly. “You heading to the other side of the forest? Yeah, well, it’s mostly safe, but you don’t wanna get lost and we know the way.” He nods at the others. “Ray and Frank, this is Ryan,” he adds. Ray smiles kindly and Frank gives him a cheerful salute. “Alright, guys, let’s get going.”

“Uh,” Ryan says, and then – because he doesn’t really have any better ideas at this point in time – sets off with them.

*

Okay, so magic kind of (and by “kind of”, Ryan actually means “totally, what the _fuck_ ”) exists. Gerard is happy to talk about it – about coming into his powers when he turned thirteen, and having to get control of them and all that kind of stuff, and now he and his friends travel the land and do good and protect Faerie from evil and all these things that sounds really, really impressive, except Gerard is this short, smiley little guy with messy hair that probably needs a decent wash and a t-shirt that says _I Have A Zombie Escape Plan_ and ripped denim jeans. Ryan points all of this out as politely as he can, between bites of the really, really yummy apple Ray handed him for breakfast (which is a lot more filling than a normal apple would be on the other side of the Wall) and Gerard shrugs.

“People can never make up their mind what they want to look like over here,” he says. “I mean, you can go with the whole dangerous sorcerer look—” he snaps his fingers, and suddenly he’s looming over Ryan in a velvet black robe, hood drawn up so that his face is in shadows. “But I trip over hems a lot, and robes get dirty really quickly. Also we have to run away from things really fast a lot and you know, jeans are probably easier for that.” He shrugs and is back in his old clothes. Ryan tries not to stare. “It’s like – you just pick what you want to do, you know? You’ll see as many faeries in cargo pants as you will in gowns and shit. That’s why I thought you could be an elf, even though you’re in—” he pauses, considers Ryan thoughtfully. “Actually, you know, most elves do wear pinstriped trousers and vests and stuff, so I think that was pretty fair.”

Ryan grins despite himself and Gerard laughs softly. “Frank’s the one who looks the most magical out of us, I think,” he says, and Frank turns back at the sound of his name, falls into step next to them. Ryan looks at Frank properly for the first time and then starts; Frank’s tattoos, which up until now Ryan had just seen as a pattern of vibrant colours, are _moving_ , crawling up and down his arms – strange looking people and monsters and stars shining brightly and words sliding up and down his arms. “His stomach’s even better,” Gerard says, and Frank grins and lifts up his shirt so that Ryan can see the two birds there, wings beating up and down and turning their heads sharply at the sudden light.

“Wow,” Ryan breathes, “how do you – I mean—”

“Gerard does them for me,” Frank tells him. “It’s pretty cool, huh?” Ryan stares and nods, speechless; a sad, saintly looking woman on Frank’s arm sticks her tongue out and him and scuttles upwards, out of sight under Frank’s sleeve.

“Can you feel them moving?” Ryan asks.

“Only if I concentrate really, really hard,” Frank says. “Then it’s kind of like – it tingles a little bit. Not quite ticklish, you know, but almost. It would be better,” he adds, “if I could send them away from my body, you know? Like, run errands or spy on people or whatever. But the magic has to be really strong and really immediate to do that, like you have to cast it _while_ I’m getting the tattoo, and _someone_ —” here a pointed stare that gives Ryan a rather clear indication of exactly who ‘someone’ is, “—has stupid, annoying phobias.”

“Needles, dude,” Gerard says, miserably. “I can’t deal with them.” Ryan laughs, and then quiets when Gerard looks at him sadly out of the corner of his eye.

“Everyone has them, I guess,” he says. “My best friend, Spencer? He still freaks the fuck out if you trap him in a closet or something, can’t deal with tiny spaces.”

Gerard nods understandingly, and they fall into silence for a moment. Eventually, Gerard says, “So your friend didn’t come with you?”

“Nah,” Ryan says, “he’s still in Wall, you know.”

Gerard and Frank stop short and stare at him. “You’re from _Wall_?” Frank breathes. “You’re like, a _human_ human?

“Uh, yeah?” Ryan says, feeling kind of inadequate.

“Man,” Gerard says. “I figured you were from one of the villages, or something, not. _Man_. What are you doing here, then?”

Ryan goes a little bit pink. “Uh,” he says, “there’s, like, there’s this guy?”

Frank smirks delightedly and Gerard’s eyes light up. “Your boyfriend?” he asks.

“No,” Ryan mumbles. “Well, like, not yet. But—” He stops, but Gerard nods at him encouragingly and Ryan ends up spilling out the whole, stupid story; how he’s been pretty much in love with Pete since he was about five years old, and how clever and funny and hot Pete is, and how he’s pretty much everything Ryan could ever dream of. And then how Pete always seems to think Ryan is this vaguely okay dude, but like a little brother sort of thing (“Seriously, seven years isn’t that much of a big deal!”) and _now_ Pete’s got this stupid crush on Ashlee Simpson, who Ryan will admit grudgingly is kind of cute but not that amazing. And then the walk with Spencer, and seeing the shooting star, and realising it would be the perfect way to make Pete fall in love with him, and then setting out for Faerie that night. “And here I am,” Ryan finishes, and goes a little bit red again.

Gerard is staring at him with huge, shining eyes. “That is the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard,” he breathes. “Isn’t that the most romantic thing you’ve ever heard, Frank?”

Frank looks at Ryan kind of curiously, one side of his mouth screwed up in thought. “Have you ever, like, had a conversation with this dude, Ryan?” he asks.

“Uh,” Ryan says, “not really? I’ve listened to him talk to other people, though. And we’ve, like, chatted a few times. But that isn’t important, really, it’s just like – he makes me all—” Ryan stops, helpless and a little bit embarrassed. Gerard beams at him, throws an arm around his shoulders.

“I think it’s awesome,” he says. “And you’re right, the star thing will _totally_ work. It’s brilliant. Although, you’re not going to take the star back—” Frank elbows Gerard sharply and the two exchange a quick, wordless conversation with meaningful stares and eyebrow twitches. Ryan watches, confused, until Gerard sighs and repeats, “It’s brilliant.”

“Yeah,” Ryan says, smugly. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

*

They reach the other side of the forest late that afternoon, which Ryan thinks is way too fast to cover all that ground; Gerard looks pleased with himself, though, and Mikey mutters something about how “walking normally” always feels so weird after the spell. Ryan does notice an odd heaviness in the soles of his feet, though he attributed it to a long walk.

“Look, we’re heading north now,” Gerard says, “but you need to keep going west, over the hills. We’ve got to pick up a caravan in the next town, or we’d keep you company, but. You know. Also, it’s your quest, it’s probably more impressive if you do it on your own.” Ryan nods, and Gerard takes a breath. “But, okay, I did a bit of – research, I guess, about your star? And I think it’s landed really, really far away, like, at least two months worth of walking?”

“Seriously?” Ryan asks dismally. “But I – anyone could have come along and stolen it by then!”

“Yeah,” Gerard says. “So I was thinking, I could – if you didn’t mind, I won’t do it if you don’t want me to – I could cast a spell. That just gets you there really fast. You’d have to walk back normally, because I can’t cast a spell unless I’m with you, and I can only get you going in the one direction with this spell. But that way you could get the star before anyone else has the chance to, right?”

“Really?” Ryan asks, lighting up. “That would be incredibly awesome, if you – you’re sure it wouldn’t tire you out or anything?”

“Psh,” Gerard says, waving a dismissive hand. “I am almighty and inexhaustible, blah blah blah.”

Frank grins. “Something like that,” he says, and Gerard smiles at him.

“Well,” Ryan says, “it was really cool meeting you. Thanks for all your help.”

“You, too,” Gerard says, and then the other four crowd around to say goodbye. Gerard hugs him once, carefully, and then mumbles something into Ryan’s hair (at first, Ryan thinks it’s the spell, but after thinking about it later he’s inclined to believe it was “good luck with Pete!”). “Okay,” he says, stepping back. “Turn west, and _run_.”

Ryan does just that.

*

He doesn’t actually _feel_ like he’s running that fast – it feels like jogging along at his normal pace, but the countryside flashes by incredibly quickly. At the speed this strange new world is going by, it’s almost easier to believe what he’s seeing – huge waterfalls that come out of nowhere, with no cliffs above, just a stream of water glittering like jewels falling down to the ground; the end of rainbows on the top of a hill, leaving a circle of amazing, multicoloured light; a stormy inland sea with gulls screeching and circling above.

It’s hard to keep track of his thoughts, too, running like this; his head feels clear but empty, and the few thoughts that linger in his mind seem to be taken up with wonder over the strange things he’s seeing, and the way the wind is making him just slightly cold, raising goosebumps on his skin, and the way that even though he ate the apple hours ago the taste is still lingering slightly in his mouth, cold and crisp and tart, but not unpleasantly so. He thinks his breath would probably smell pretty nice to anyone right now, which is a slightly ridiculous thing to think, after all – there is no one here for Ryan to breathe on.

Because the world he’s speeding by does seem incredibly deserted. Maybe, Ryan thinks, he’s just moving too quickly to see anyone, but he catches sight of wildlife now and again – a small cluster of deer grazing, two of them raising their heads to stare at him with huge, dark eyes (he must only be a blur to them, he thinks absently). At one stage he raises his head in time to see a dark cloud of birds passing through the sky, the sound of their raucous cries spiralling down to him. There’s no sign of any people, though, and in the end Ryan has the uneasy thought that probably people can go past here without being noticed. He feels strangely unsafe, vulnerable even though he knows that no earthly thing could possibly catch him at this pace (although, he reminds himself, this is Faerie, and it’s impossible that Gerard is the only one who knows magic). Ryan takes his eyes off the sky and focuses back on the land he’s rushing past, not wanting to accidentally skip over the star.

He’s going so fast that he almost misses the crater in the ground; the huge, stony mess that’s tipped two trees on the ground and upheaved hundreds of rocks to the surface, incongruous amongst the rest of the warm, sunny countryside, and Ryan knows immediately that this must be the site the star has landed in. Despite this, it’s the flash of dark hair as Ryan’s dashing past that makes him pull to a halt just in time. He takes a breath and feels the spell slip away from him, like he’s surfaced from the river that runs through Wall and is climbing back up the bank to where Spencer’s waiting, shaking the water out of his hair.

There is a boy sitting in the very centre of the crater, one leg stretched out in front of him, the other pulled up. He has both hands linked around the knee of this leg and he’s glaring into the distance, looking kind of grumpy. Ryan stops behind him, as of yet unnoticed, and makes a face at the boy’s back, squinting around the crater in search of the star. Maybe, he thinks, he can just make a dash down there, grab the star before the boy gets it (if that’s what the boy’s after) and then make a getaway before he gets sucked in to a fistfight which Ryan will, inevitably, lose.

He can’t see anything though, and so – chest feeling tight and anxious; he _has_ to get that star, he _needs_ it – he makes his way down the steep side of the crater, slipping a little over the rocks. The boy turns his head at the first sounds and stares, and Ryan sees it’s not a boy after all, but a guy around Ryan’s age; a really, really handsome guy, with dark eyes and a red mouth and fair skin and all that fairytale crap. He still looks pissed, though.

“Um, hi,” Ryan says, when he gets down there. The guy narrows his eyes and says nothing, and Ryan shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot. “Uh,” Ryan says, “you haven’t seen, like – a precious rock, or anything? Maybe an amulet or a charm? A ball of light?”

“No,” the guy says.

Ryan nods awkwardly and goes to circling the crater, eyes fixed on the ground. It’s kind of big – not amazingly huge, but enough that he thinks dismally it’s going to take him ages to comb the whole ground in search of something when he’s not really sure what it looks like. Plus the guy is watching him, which makes Ryan self-conscious, and finally he looks up and says, “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” the guy says.

“Uh, okay,” Ryan answers. “You’re not like – why are you just sitting on the ground?”

The guy tilts his head and surveys Ryan with a blank face. “I’ve hurt my ankle,” he says, eventually.

“Oh,” Ryan says. “Did you fall down the slope?”

“Ha, ha,” the guy says. “Hilarious. You’re a riot.”

Ryan blinks at him, utterly confused. Finally he shrugs and says, “Did you need any help?” because the guy’s pretty rude, but Ryan figures he should be polite in Faerie. Maybe the guy will curse him or something if he doesn’t offer to help.

The guy actually looks like he’s considering it for a moment, and then he shakes his head. “I don’t know where to go, anyway,” he says. “So no. Thank you.”

Ryan shrugs and kicks over some more stones, but nothing leaps out at him. The sun is almost complete set, and dusk is already spreading through the land; soon it will be too dark to look properly (unless the star glows in the dark or something? That would be useful but knowing Ryan’s luck – Ryan’s actually had pretty good luck thus far in his journey, but he’s not going to let that get in the way of an incoming fit of emo – it won’t, it’ll just camouflage even more under the rubble of the crater). Ryan sighs and looks up at the guy again, says, “You sure you haven’t seen a star?”

The guy stares at him, blinks politely. “Hi?” he says. “I’m Brendon Urie?”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Ryan,” Ryan says quickly. “No, seriously, I know it sounds kind of stupid, but I saw a star fall last night, and I really, really need to find it—”

“… sup?” Brendon says, making a face that seems to say Wow, You’re Really Dumb. Ryan glares at him – oh fine, _now_ the impolite dude wants to make small talk. Goddamnit.

“ _Seriously_ ,” Ryan insists. “I really need to find that star, I—” he stops, stares. “Wait a minute.”

“Here it comes,” Brendon announces to no one in particular.

“ _You’re_ not – wait, are you – really?” Ryan squeaks. “A star? Is like, human? Really?”

Brendon shrugs. “Sorry to disappoint,” he says, and it’s then that Ryan notices how bright Brendon’s eyes seem, how _alive_ , and the fact that he’s letting off a little bit of white, radiant light.

“God,” Ryan breathes. “Wow.” He stares and then shakes his head. “You didn’t, I just – I had no idea. You’re seriously the star? Really?”

“Uh-huh,” Brendon says, and then glances up at the sky miserably. “I fell,” he mumbles as an afterthought.

“I just – I came to look for the st— you, I guess, and I was expecting. A pretty rock. Or some sort of charm, I don’t know.”

Brendon shrugs again. “Guess no one ever told you the truth,” he says. “Not many people meet one of us, anyway. Most stars die when they fall. Or no one ever finds them. Or they get back up, I suppose,” he adds, and looks up at the sky again, sort of hopefully.

“Wow,” Ryan repeats, and grins, suddenly. “Hey, are you— I bet you’re hungry, did you want some food?” He figures it’s probably not very polite to announce first thing that you’re planning to take a star home for your true love. It seems to be the right thing to do, anyway; Brendon nods eagerly, and Ryan pulls the bread and hummus out from his backpack, tears the loaf in half and offers it to Brendon. Brendon’s clearly ravenous, tearing off hunks off the bread and swallowing it down as fast as he can – he eats, Ryan thinks with amusement, like any normal teenage boy.

“Hey,” Ryan says, “so stars do eat, then?”

Brendon swallows his mouthful. “Don’t need to, up there,” he says thickly, seemingly in a better mood now that he’s eaten. “But down here, you know, we’re. More human, I guess.” He flashes Ryan a quick smile, and it’s kind of blinding; Ryan blinks in the light of it. “We’ve got _needs_ ,” Brendon says, and then giggles, and Ryan groans aloud.

“That’s horrible,” he says, and Brendon laughs again and digs back into the food. Ryan waits until Brendon’s finished and humming something warm and contented under his breath before he asks, cautiously, “Mind if I stay here tonight?”

“Suit yourself,” Brendon says, and Ryan unpacks his sleeping bag. It’s going to be uncomfortable on this stony ground, he thinks, but he can face it for one night, and he doesn’t want to sleep up on the hill and risk Brendon sneaking off, anyway. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Brendon look quickly at the sleeping bag and then away, and he stops, feeling guilty.

“Are you cold?” he asks, and Brendon shakes his head quickly.

“I’ll be fine,” Brendon says.

“Only, I think this probably—” he struggles with the zip for a moment, before exclaiming aloud when it unsticks and comes smoothly down the side and around the bottom, turning the sleeping bag into one big quilt. Brendon beams, delighted, and Ryan settles down on the ground, throws it over the two of them. “I know it’s not that late,” he says, “but I need to get a move on early tomorrow, and—”

“It’s fine,” Brendon says. “I’m pretty tired.”

Ryan lays his head down and rolls over, back to Brendon, because it’s a bit awkward to lie there staring at him. It’s dark now, and the sky is covered in clouds, but there’s light in the crater; a soft, silvery glow setting a sheen over the ground, making it so that it’s not pitch black, emanating from Brendon.

*

When Ryan wakes up the next morning, both of them have – at some stage in the night – rolled over so that they’re facing each other. They’re not touching or anything, still at least thirty centimetres away (which is quite far, really, if you consider the fact that they’re sharing a blanket) but it’s a little disconcerting to open your eyes and find another face so close.

Brendon’s still asleep, so Ryan crawls out from under the blanket as quietly as he can, wincing when his abused muscles immediately start throbbing. Okay, so, sleeping on rocks – not such a great idea. Also, he realises suddenly, he’s starving. He goes through his pack and discovers that Spencer’s managed to wrap four eggs securely enough that they haven’t broken yet, and there’s a little bowl that he figures he could probably use in lieu of a saucepan.

He wanders off to find sticks and dead leaves for a fire (he’s no good at any of the boy scout stuff, but he did have the presence of mind to pack a lighter), and he finds a clear little creek (this is Faerie though, so Ryan should probably refer to it as a brook or something) running (bubbling?) quickly over the rocks. The water’s cold and tastes fresh when he splashes his face, and he drinks from cupped hands, spilling a fair amount on his trousers in the process. Then he fills the bowl up with water and heads back to the crater.

Brendon’s still sleeping, and Ryan starts to pile the sticks together, trying to make a little platform thingy where he can sit the bowl. He has a feeling that there’s no way it would work in Wall, but he’s in Faerie now, and there’s probably a little bit of Gerard’s magic still lingering around him – in any case, the fire burns quickly and well, and when he puts the bowl of water on top it sits nicely without overbalancing or anything and begins to boil.

Brendon doesn’t actually wake up until Ryan’s gingerly dropped the eggs into the bowl and is trying to remember how long to leave them in for to cook. Ryan turns around at the rustling of the sleeping bag and Brendon’s sitting up, blinking sleepily at him and rubbing sleep dust out of his eyes. He looks almost disarmingly young, and also kind of more human this morning – probably something to do with his mussed hair, Ryan thinks, and the red mark on his the side of his face where he’s clearly slept uncomfortably on a rock or something.

“Morning,” Ryan says, a little warily.

“Morning,” Brendon repeats, and yawns, stretching up towards the blue sky. He looks vaguely surprised, and also a little more cheerful than last night. “I’ve never slept before, wow.”

“Never?” Ryan gapes, and Brendon shrugs.

“Stars don’t sleep,” he says. “They shine.”

“Only at night time,” Ryan says. “Aren’t you just nocturnal or something?”

“Always night time somewhere in the world,” Brendon points out, and then he leans forward to look at the cooking eggs. “Is that breakfast? Yum.” Ryan nods and reaches out to pull the bowl off the fire (it’s got to be long enough by now, right?) and Brendon’s eyes widen as he yelps, “Hey, watch it!” Ryan lands one finger on the bowl before shouting out loud and wrenching his hand away.

“It’s hot!” he says, popping his finger into his mouth automatically.

“Well, _duh_ ,” Brendon says, gazing at him in a bemused sort of way, “it’s a metal bowl on a _fire_. You’ll have to, like—” he seizes a stick off the ground and reaches forward, pokes at the bowl until it slides and falls off the fire.

“Careful of the eggs!”

“Dude,” Brendon says, “they’re _hard-boiled_. Now pour water on the fire or something, I don’t know.”

Ryan ends up making another trip to the creek to fill his hat (for lack of anything better, and he has to make little, sad noises of mourning as he does it) with water. When he gets back, Brendon’s gingerly fishing the eggs out of the bowl of hot water, making faces and blowing on his fingers. Ryan doesn’t think it’s fair, really, that a fallen star is more practical than him at the whole Surviving in the Wilderness thing.

They eat breakfast mostly in silence. The eggs are really good once they’ve cooled off enough for them to gingerly pick off the shells, even though they have to eat them on their own, since Ryan didn’t think to keep any of the bread from last night. Brendon doesn’t seem to mind, anyway; he makes small, appreciative noises in the back of his throat and then licks the sticky yolk off his fingers once he’s done. Ryan keeps his gaze painstakingly on his own breakfast.

“Okay,” Brendon says finally, once he’s done, “so the food here is _awesome_. Earth gets one point.”

“Uh,” Ryan says cleverly. Brendon really does look mostly normal this morning, and Ryan keeps getting stupid little jolts of remembering that the guy’s a _star_ , actually one of the tiny sparkly things that everyone talks about when they want to feel romantic. Ryan wonders idly how many poems people have written about Brendon. Brendon looks at him and winks, and Ryan realises he must have been staring. He turns pink and looks away, and Brendon laughs softly.

“So,” Brendon says, “you were looking for a shooting star? That’s why you came here?”

“Yeah,” Ryan says.

“And you found me,” Brendon prompts. Ryan nods and Brendon makes a face at him, mouth forming an _o_ , eyebrows going up. Brendon has a lot of rather impressive faces, Ryan is beginning to realise. “So why were you looking for the star? Adventure? Riches? You thought I was going to be a diamond, right?”

“Um,” Ryan says, and scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s kind of like. It’s a bit embarrassing, really, because – you know, I wasn’t expecting you to be _alive_.” This earns him another funny face but Brendon says nothing, just leans forward, hands curving around the knee he’s drawn up to his chest again, face curious. Ryan takes a breath and continues. “So me and my best friend, Spencer, we were talking about this guy. Pete. He’s like – he’s really – I’m sort of—”

Brendon stares, uncomprehending, and then something clicks in his eyes and he breathes, “He’s your true love?”

“Uh, yeah, for lack of a better word,” Ryan says, nodding. “Anyway, so me and Spencer were talking about him, and how he likes this other girl and to make him love _me_ I really need a kind of amazing grand gesture or something, you know? And so.” He shrugs awkwardly, and nods at Brendon without looking at him. Brendon says nothing and Ryan finally sneaks a peek up through his lashes to see Brendon looking kind of confused, and then Brendon’s eyes widen and he starts smiling.

“Oh my God,” he says, “you went to fetch him a shooting star? Oh my _God_! That is so amazing, Ryan, that’s – it’s better than Disney!”

Ryan looks up, eyes narrowing. “What the fuck?” he says, blinking. “You’re a star, how the hell do you know about Disney?”

Brendon shrugs, still beaming. “It gets boring some nights,” he says, “and we can watch pretty much anything that goes on down here, so.”

“ _How_?” Ryan persists. “You’re a million miles away! I paid attention in science!”

“Science,” Brendon scoffs, “motherfucking balls of gas, seriously. As if we don’t have _souls_. Dude, it’s just – we’re stars, you know? Magic and stuff. We can do whatever we like up there.”

“So down here,” Ryan says, an idea growing on him, “you’re not a magician or anything, are you? Because it’s a two month walk from here to get home.”

Brendon shakes his head. “Sorry, can’t help you with that. About the extent of my power down here is as a life size nightlight, you know.”

Ryan grins. “Yeah, I noticed.” He pauses and then says, cautiously, “So would you maybe, uh, consider coming with me? It’s just – I can’t think of anything else to do, and you’re still pretty cool as a star and stuff, you know. But if you want to, to—”

“Hey, I’ve no idea what to do now I’m here,” Brendon interrupts, shrugging. “I’m pretty much stuck here, I think, so – yeah, sure, I may as well come along with you, right?” He smiles again, eyes lighting up. “And if it’s all in the pursuit of True Love, then that’s pretty awesome, and. I’d like to help. It could be fun.”

Ryan starts smiling again. “That’s – awesome, thank you. Seriously, _thank you_ ,” he repeats, and Brendon laughs, waves a dismissive hand at him. “We’d better – I’ll pack up, it’s a long journey from here.”

Brendon nods and watches Ryan scramble to put everything back in his pack, zipping and then rolling up the sleeping bag again, and he waits until Ryan’s turned back to him before he talks again, slowly. “Uh, Ryan? I just – my ankle. I think I’ve twisted it pretty badly, I’m not sure how much. Weight, I can.”

“Oh,” Ryan says, crouching down next to him. “ _Oh_ , shit, I didn’t. Didn’t think of that.” Brendon’s not wearing any shoes, he notices for the first time (Brendon’s actually dressed weirdly normally; dark black skinny jeans and a pastel pink hoodie, with a pair of weirdly cute red glasses – okay, so maybe not _normally_ , but normally for a _star_ ). His feet are going to probably hurt after a while, Ryan thinks, glancing down at his own shoes, and he makes a face.

Finally, he rummages in his bag and produces his three least favourites of the neckerchiefs he packed. Sacrificing them for the cause, he thinks sadly, and then commences to binding one of them around Brendon’s unhurt foot (“For a shoe,” he explains, when Brendon blinks curiously at him).

Then he takes Brendon’s swollen ankle – and fuck, it looks really sore, big and pink and hot to the touch – and murmurs, “Shit, this is – okay, just hold still. I’ll try and be quick.” Brendon nods and waits and Ryan folds his neckerchief in half, wraps it tight as he can around Brendon’s ankle.

Brendon breathes in sharply at the first knot but after Ryan’s finished he nods and says, “That’s better. Thanks.” Ryan smiles crookedly at him and uses the final neckerchief as another pseudo-shoe for Brendon’s sore foot, and then an idea strikes him and he scrambles up the slope and over to where one of the trees has fallen.

It doesn’t take him long to find what he’s looking for – a broken off branch, the right height and sturdy enough. Ryan takes it back and presents it to Brendon, and then adds, “And you can lean on me, too, if you need to. And we’ll go slow.”

Brendon laughs, clearly delighted. “Awesome,” he says. “Thank you.”

It takes them a while to get away from the crater – it takes Brendon ages to ease comfortably to his feet, and walking up a steep, slippery slope is probably not the best thing to do straight away on a twisted ankle, but they make it up there, and Brendon starts to find his confidence, taking firm, steady steps, if they are a little small.

“Awesome,” Ryan breathes, when the crater’s almost out of sight, and Brendon grants him a dazzling smile.

*

“You’re wrong,” Ryan says vehemently, “wrong and severely misguided. It’s okay, Brendon. You’re just a star. You haven’t had time to _appreciate_ the beauty of The Lion King, which is why you’ve been led to the sadly mistaken belief that Aladdin somehow manages to beat that masterpiece of—”

“They _kill_ Mufasa!” Brendon interrupts, eyes bright. “How can you possibly defend that movie after that?”

“It’s necessary for the plot,” Ryan explains condescendingly, “and for the characters. You have to give Simba room to _grow_ , dude.”

“Aladdin grows without feeling the need to kill off any awesome lions,” Brendon tells him. “Also, Aladdin has _A Whole New World_ —”

“The Lion King has _Can You Feel The Love Tonight_ —”

“You’re ignoring the awesomeness of _Prince Ali_ ,” Brendon says sternly. “The parade. And the elephants. And Genie!”

“ _Just Can’t Wait To Be King_ cancels out _Prince Ali_ any day,” Ryan says. “Also, Aladdin centres around fantasy – magic carpets and genies, seriously, there’s no realism to it—”

“As opposed to the friendly talking lions?” Brendon asks, grinning. “Anyway, magic carpets exist, dude, I’ve talked to guys on them.”

Ryan stops, turns around and blinks at him. “Seriously?” he asks. He shouldn’t be surprised, he supposes, but – magic carpets? Really?

Brendon nods, still grinning. “Well, really just one guy – he’d gotten it off some magician he knew or something. He was pretty cool. Little strange in the head, you know, but cool nevertheless.”

“You’re a little strange in the head,” Ryan says automatically. Brendon glares at him, and then clenches his eyes shut, little creases of concentration on his forehead.

Ryan stares at him, and then suddenly there's a blinding flash of light and he reels backwards, throwing a hand up to cover his smarting eyes. “That’s cheating!” he wails through the kaleidoscopic display the back of his eyelids are showing him.

Brendon laughs, sounding a little out of breath. Ryan opens his eyes cautiously – Brendon is still shimmering a little – and smiles back at him.

*

By the end of the day, Brendon’s face is white and strained and he’s limping heavily, leaning on the stick so hard Ryan’s a little afraid it’s going to snap. Ryan finds an empty looking cave at around four o’clock and decides to stop and set up camp, early – Brendon goes to protest but Ryan yawns melodramatically, and Brendon rolls his eyes and offers him a tiny smile.

Ryan goes out hunting for wood and leaves again while it’s still light, and ends up making a huge pile; enough to last them through till tomorrow morning, he thinks. Brendon grins at him and says, “Well, someone’s a good little boy scout, aren’t they?” and Ryan flips him off, secretly kind of glad that Brendon’s regained this morning’s good humour – the last few hours of the walk today had been long and tense, Brendon getting more silent with every step.

For dinner, Ryan triumphantly produces two cans of baked beans and Brendon grins at him. “Good,” he says, “I’m _starving_.” They’d found an apple tree on the walk and snacked on them for lunch, but Brendon’s words bring back Ryan’s appetite and he realises that he’s hungry, too. He rummages through his pack for a can opener.

Only he can’t seem to find one, which is stupid, because he _knows_ Spencer packed one. He pulls out all the contents of the bag out and goes through them twice, shaking the empty bag up above his head, as though a can opener is going to tumble out of the seams. Brendon watches with an increasingly more amused look on his face.

“Dude,” Brendon says eventually, “did you bring a can opener with all those cans?”

“Spencer packed one!” Ryan bursts out. “I saw him do it! I packed my stuff, and then Spencer added things, and then I—” He stops, suddenly, a panicked look coming over his face and Brendon drops his face into his hands, groans aloud.

“Oh my God,” Brendon says.

“Spencer _did_ pack one,” Ryan admits miserably, “but I think I might have unpacked it by accident to put some more scarves in—”

“Oh my _God_ ,” Brendon says.

After a lot of bitching and Brendon making fun of him and Ryan complaining about being made fun of, they resort to hammering at one of the cans rather gingerly with a pointy rock that they find. Eventually, Ryan chips through a large enough hole that they can pour it into the saucepan and heat it again over the fire (though, much to his disgust, he spills some of the sauce on his lap).

“Ah,” Brendon says, voice thick with mockery, “the staggering technology of the devastatingly intelligent human civilization—” Ryan thwacks him hard on the arm. Brendon laughs, says, “At least you didn’t unpack the spoons,” and they eat out of the same bowl, heads bent together.

“So,” Ryan says finally, kind of awkwardly, after they’ve finished eating and are sitting back from the fire, warming their hands. “Are you, um, okay? You know, now that you’re not in the sky?”

Brendon looks down, bites his lip. “It’s kind of weird,” he admits softly. “And I really – I mean, it’s not the same. I miss the sky.” He breathes out and looks towards the mouth of the cave, where the thousands of stars are shining, bright next to the luminous moon. “But, I guess it could be worse, hey?” He gives Ryan a small smile and Ryan smiles back, wide and welcoming. “At least I’m doing something,” Brendon adds, “you know, helping you out with your Pete.”

“Yeah,” Ryan says, nodding fast. Brendon had only continued to get more enraptured with the idea as Ryan had told him more about Pete during the day, and Ryan can’t help thinking that – useful as it’s been thus far – it’s kind of weird, how many people in Faerie are diehard romantics.

Actually, he’s sort of surprised at how open Brendon seems to be to the whole human experience. Sure, he’d complained for a little while about how _heavy_ everything was down here, whatever that meant, and it was clear that his ankle was really hurting him, but he had managed to stay incredibly cheerful considering he’d just fallen from the heavens and all. There’s something about the whole star thing that’s been niggling at Ryan for a while, though, and eventually – because Brendon seems pretty content – he raises it, asking cautiously, “Hey, if you don’t mind me asking – me and Spence, we saw you before you fell. Obviously. And you were, like, going kind of crazy, shining and stuff.”

“Uh,” Brendon says, and incredibly he goes a little bit pink. “Um, yeah.”

Ryan pauses, but when Brendon doesn’t say anything else he persists. “And then you just – fell? Um, how? I mean, why did you fall?”

Brendon goes even redder. “It’s a little embarrassing,” he says.

“More embarrassing than bringing cans with no can opener?”

“So as to have more room for _neckerchiefs_ ,” Brendon reminds him, grinning. “And, maybe about the same level? Or worse, I guess, because you didn’t _really_ suffer for the whole can opener thing. Not that I’m suffering. A lot, that is, I mean, my foot’s pretty sore. And also I kind of miss all my friends, and stuff, but—”

“But,” Ryan prompts hastily, because he’s had enough experience already today with Brendon wandering off on tangents and talking for half an hour about something that has absolutely no relevance to anything.

“I was showing off,” Brendon says in a small voice, looking down. “I was – it’s like dancing or something, I guess, shining. And, uh, I was mucking around with some friends and then I. Slipped.”

Ryan pauses, looks at Brendon with a twitching mouth. “Seriously?” he asks, and Brendon nods. Ryan takes a deep breath and manages to count all the way to six before he bursts out laughing, stomach hurting with the force of it.

Brendon stares at him in disbelief. “I can’t believe you’re – you’re _laughing_ , asshole!” he cries. “I fucking fell out of the sky—”

“Because you were _shining_ too hard,” Ryan chokes out, and laughs harder.

“—and you’re sitting there _laughing_! Stupid motherfucking dickface,” he adds quickly, and Ryan laughs harder with every word. Brendon looks at him, and tries to suppress a quick smile, but Ryan catches it and points, still cackling.

Brendon starts to giggle then after a while, and finally he laughs, too. “It is kind of stupid, I guess,” he says, chuckling and Ryan takes a deep breath, pushing away the last of his hysterics.

He nods, eyes bright. “Very stupid,” he says, but he reaches out to touch Brendon’s arm quickly, eyes bright, and Brendon ducks his head, smiles.

*

When he wakes up the next morning, he’s lying on his stomach with his hand curled around Brendon’s forearm and Brendon is snuggled up close to him, warm all along Ryan’s side. He blinks sleepily, trying to wake up enough to process information properly, and he must have stirred a bit because Brendon yawns loudly next to him and mumbles, “S’it morning?”

It should be awkward, waking up this close, but Ryan’s warm and the floor of the cave is much more comfortable than the rocks they’d slept on the night before. He lets go of Brendon’s arm and crawls out from under the sleeping bag, peers out the mouth of the cave and nods. “Uh-huh,” he says, and yawns, stretches.

Brendon says, voice thick with sleep, “Well, I’m just gonna sleep a little bit longer, wake me when you’ve got breakfast ready—” and Ryan surprises himself by how fast he gets back across to Brendon in order to cuff him across the back of the head. Brendon yelps and rubs his head, staring up at Ryan with huge, reproachful eyes, and Ryan laughs softly.

“I’m going to go get water and wash,” he tells him. “You cook the baked beans this time.”

It’s a warm, sunny day already, and after Ryan’s filled up the two water bottles Spencer packed he strips down to his underwear and dives into the stream. It’s deep and quite wide, and Ryan figures that it’ll probably turn into a river a little further down. He dives down to the bottom and scrubs sand through his hair, remembering from somewhere that that’s meant to clean your scalp, and then surfaces, gasping for breath.

The water is cool and really nice, and he’s tempted to stay there for a while, but he doesn’t want Brendon to think Ryan’s abandoned him so he heads back fairly soon towards the cave, pulling on his clothes over still damp underwear. It’s a little uncomfortable, but the day really is warm and pleasant, and Ryan doesn’t mind too much.

Back at the cave Brendon’s already got the baked beans ready and has managed to shuffle around well enough to pack up all their gear. “Nice work,” Ryan says, surprised, and Brendon raises his eyebrows and bows awkwardly, making Ryan laugh. They eat quickly and make vague plans about trying to find some sort of comfortable place to rest tonight (“No, seriously, dude,” Brendon says, grimacing, “my _back_ ,”) and maybe somewhere where they can get food. There’s six cans left, which isn’t going to last them long, and they can’t count on the possibility of finding fruit trees throughout the whole journey.

“Hey, so,” Ryan says when they’re done, “I found a stream a little while away, if you wanted to have a swim and clean off before we left properly?”

“Are you implying that you’re not fond of my natural odour, Ross?” Brendon asks coldly, and then giggles, ruining the effect. They walk down there together, and Brendon says his foot feels better this morning, although Ryan privately thinks that’s probably more the fact that he hasn’t walked on it properly for over twelve hours, and that it will start acting up again later this day. He’d tightened the bandage again this morning and it had looked more swollen from all the walking yesterday, and he’d seen Brendon wince, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth, even though he hadn’t said anything.

Ryan says, “So, if you wanted me to, like—” and then stops, because Brendon sits down on a rock, carefully unties the bandanas around his feet and strips off his hoodie and t-shirt before sliding straight in. Ryan blinks, caught a little off-guard; Brendon’s skin is tanned and smooth (and he’d kind of expected Brendon to be really pale; he is a _star_ , after all) and he cups water in his open hands and splashes it over his head, tilting his face up. Ryan watches the water roll down Brendon’s skin, over the line of his throat, and swallows hard.

“God, the water’s awesome,” Brendon says, and Ryan drags his attention back to what Brendon’s saying, nods. “You’re sure you don’t wanna come in?”

“Uh, I already swam,” Ryan says, and sits down on a rock, tries not to be too creepy about watching Brendon. Brendon seems more confident on his ankle like this, though, and Ryan can imagine it – the lightness he must feel, how cool and soothing the water would be. Brendon even ducks underwater and swims a few easy laps up and down (he’s a _star_ , Ryan keeps reminding himself, dumbfounded, how the hell does he know how to swim?), arms slicing through the water smoothly.

He dives under again and Ryan can see him shimmy through the water, sliding close to Ryan without coming up for a breath. When he surfaces, he spits a stream of water out of his mouth and onto Ryan’s face and then swims away laughing wildly while Ryan gasps and blinks the water out of his eyes.

After about twenty minutes Ryan’s taken all he thinks he can bear. “Hey, if you haven’t turned into a mermaid yet we should probably get a move on!”

Brendon swims lazily back to him and pulls himself up onto dry ground, wincing for a moment when his ankle knocks against a rock. He gets up there, standing gingerly, all his weight on his right foot, and shakes his hair like a dog, droplets flying out and getting Ryan’s shirt wet. Ryan glares at him and Brendon grins sheepishly, peering out from behind wet bangs.

Ryan can’t say he’s not relieved when Brendon puts his clothes back on and they can start walking.

*

Brendon’s tired and limping badly by early afternoon and Ryan can’t help but glance at him more and more often until finally Brendon snaps, voice strained, “I’m fucking _fine_ , stop looking at me. Jesus.”

Ryan draws in a breath and Brendon looks away, cheeks pink but determined. Ryan drops his backpack and stretches lazily, and he doesn’t look at Brendon when he says, “What if I carried you for a while?”

“Huh?” Brendon stares at him as though he’s supremely stupid. “Ryan, the backpack. And you’re not exactly Mr Muscles, dude. Also,” he adds quickly, remembering his original point, “I’m _fine_.”

“Yeah, you _look_ really good,” Ryan says dryly, “picture of health. No, look, I’m stronger than I look, okay? You put the backpack on and then you can go piggyback on me, and we’ll just. It’ll give your ankle a rest, you know. Otherwise it’ll just get worse, Brendon.”

Brendon looks down. “I really think that’s a bad idea,” he mumbles, “you’ll just get more tired and. I seriously am okay, it’s just weird to get used to walking like this and stuff. Really, Ryan.”

Ryan sighs, tired of Brendon’s stupid nobility, and says, “Put the goddamn backpack on, Urie.”

Brendon glares at him and then snaps, “Fine,” and picks it up, putting it on, carefully avoiding putting too much weight on his left foot. Ryan waits for a moment, for Brendon to adjust to the new weight, and then crouches down in front of him. Brendon hesitates until Ryan makes an impatient noise and Brendon leans forward, grips onto Ryan’s shoulders. There’s a bit of awkward shuffling around until finally Ryan’s standing up, Brendon firmly clinging onto his back. It’s heavy, yeah, but not unbearably so, and Brendon weighs less than Ryan would have thought – there’s something strangely light about him, almost airy. For the first time, Ryan wonders just how long stars can last on earth anyway.

They set off again, in grim silence, still unreasonably annoyed at each other. After a while, though, Brendon relaxes his firm hold on Ryan’s shoulders and lets his arms slide around until they’re looped loosely under Ryan’s neck, lets his head fall forward until it’s resting against Ryan’s shoulder. It’s when he starts humming softly in Ryan’s ear, an old song with a strange, jagged melody that Ryan doesn’t recognise, that Ryan knows he’s been forgiven (which is pretty ridiculous, Ryan thinks; he shouldn’t _have_ to be forgiven just for helping out, but whatever, Brendon’s weirdly proud apparently).

And it’s hard for Ryan not to let his annoyance at Brendon melt away too, not with Brendon a warm, almost comfortable weight on his back, and Brendon’s hands brushing the skin of Ryan’s neck, soft and delicate, like they’re barely there. Ryan keeps his eyes fixed on the horizon and keeps walking.

*

It’s around five o’clock that they stop for the seventh or so rest at the top of a hill since Ryan’s been carrying Brendon, and that’s when they see the village down below. It looks busy, the hum of people rising up from below, but it’s still relatively small. Ryan sees some taller buildings, though, and hopefully, he thinks, _hopefully_ there’ll be somewhere they can find a bed for the night. Brendon grins, too, and bursts into some cheerful song when Ryan picks him up again, and Brendon’s clear, strong voice accompanies them all the way down the hill, until they reach the main road that leads into the town.

It’s a strange place. In some ways it reminds Ryan a lot of Wall; the small, cheerful village air, the cobbled streets and archaic looking buildings. There’s a Post Office that looks exactly like the one back home, but then there’s also shadowy looking alleyways with men in cloaks and hoods lurking down them, and an ancient looking shop with _Apothecary_ printed above the doorway in fading gold print and huge dirty windows that look into a shadowy store with shelves everywhere full of tiny jars of things, strange shapes lurking in them.

It’s the people, though, that make Ryan stare most: tiny, dwarf-like men and women pushing their way through the crowds; tall, beautiful people that look ancient and wise, with golden hair and blue eyes (and Ryan swallows hard, remembers Gerard talking about elves); a crowd of people who look like normal teenagers in jeans and t-shirts except for the fact that they’re waving their hands around wildly in conversation, conjuring up birds and smoky shapes and frogs that leap onto the street, croaking in a surprised sort of way, and then vanishing. There’s no cars, but plenty of horse drawn carriages clattering down the main roads, and tall, malevolent looking people on black stallions, peering down the street with cruel gazes. Ryan thinks he sees a broom with a young, pretty girl on it going whizzing overhead but by the time his head has whipped up to see if the thing he saw out of the corner of his eye _was_ actually a witch on a broomstick it’s vanished.

Ryan looks around him with huge, wide eyes and stares, unable to believe what he’s seeing. It takes him a while to notice that people are staring right back at him, and a little while after that to realise exactly how strange they themselves must look – two boys, one clinging to the other’s back with scarves for shoes, looking dirty and dishevelled and vaguely exhausted. Also, it’s nearly dusk, and Ryan has a sneaking suspicion Brendon might be just a little bit luminous, letting off his faint, silvery glow already. Brendon himself doesn’t seem very surprised by the scene, just hums in a low, contented tone in Ryan’s ear – Ryan figures Brendon must have seen all of this before, up in the sky.

It is actually getting dark by the time they get halfway down the main street and Ryan spots the inn. It looks warm and inviting, a bustle of people going in for the tavern, and Ryan manages to get all the way in front of it before he notices the name of it. He starts, drawing up short, and Brendon says, “What is it?”

“Just, the name,” Ryan says, blinking up at it. “The Watermelon Smile? I’m, I’m sure I had a dream about – and wrote something, once, that had that in it. It’s just. Weird. Déjà vu.”

“Hmmn,” Brendon says agreeably, sounding kind of sleepy, and Ryan laughs softly at himself and hoists Brendon higher up on his back, walks inside. It’s even louder inside than out on the street, and there are as many strange looking people as there were outside – the guy who catches Ryan’s attention as he walks past the dining room towards the main desk is a guy in a huge hat with a feather in it, standing on top of a table and hollering loudly something about a thieving crew.

At the check-in counter, there’s a pretty young girl with short blonde hair and a mischievous smile waiting for them. “Hello,” she says. “I’m Keltie. Who are you?”

“Uh,” Ryan says, knocked a little off-balance by her clear, formal way of speaking. Brendon leans forward over his shoulder.

“Hi,” he says, and Ryan catches sight of a bright smile out of the corner of his eye. “I’m Brendon, this is Ryan. It’s nice to meet you.”

“And you,” Keltie agrees, and some of the distance in her gaze disappears. “Did you two want a room for the night?”

“Yes, please,” Ryan says. “Only—”

“Two beds or one?” she interrupts, still smiling, and Ryan blinks at her in confusion for a moment. Then Brendon starts to laugh behind him, sliding slowly off Ryan’s back and Ryan turns bright red and takes a few steps back, lets Brendon hop off his back and drop the pack on the floor between them, still giggling.

“Two beds,” Ryan says, firmly. “But – I’m new here, and I don’t have any money. Is there any way—”

“Everything has a price,” Keltie says, firmly, and then lightens. “Just depends what you’re willing to pay.”

“What,” Ryan says uneasily, “something strange, like—”

“The colour of his eyes?” Brendon suggests helpfully from the side. “The memory of his favourite book? All the history dates he’s ever learned?”

“A kiss will do,” Keltie says kindly. “I should think.”

Ryan goes a bit pink and Brendon laughs again, but Ryan leans forward and Keltie tilts her chin up, lets him kiss her softly on the mouth. She smells soft and clean, some sweet, feminine perfume, and when he steps back her eyes flutter open and she smiles at him. Ryan can’t help but smile back.

“A room for the night,” Keltie says, decisively, “with two baths to be drawn up right away, I should think. And dinner,” she adds, “you both look hungry.”

“Thank you,” Ryan says, and Keltie calls out for a young boy to come get Ryan’s backpack and lead them up to their room. He’s about to follow a hobbling Brendon when a thought strikes him and he turns around quickly, says, “The name of the inn, The Watermelon Smile? I’m almost _sure_ I’ve thought of that before, really, I’m pretty—”

Keltie shrugs. “Faerie steals dreams all the time,” she tells him. “I wouldn’t take it personally.”

*

The baths are two huge tubs in the same room, which is a little embarrassing, but then Brendon laughs lightly and says, “Hey dude, I won’t peek if you don’t,” and Ryan laughs too and feels kind of stupid for making any sort of deal about it.

And as much fun as the stream was, the bath is great for scrubbing away the dirt and the nights of sleeping on the road; there’s fragrant soap and shampoo and the water itself is hot and scattered with herbs. Ryan sinks back into it and sighs and Brendon hums, splashing around.

“So I was thinking,” Ryan announces, “that we’re going to have to come up with a new plan.”

“Yeah, the whole walking thing isn’t going so well, huh?” Brendon agrees kind of resignedly.

“We need, like, a carriage, or a cart,” Ryan muses. “Or a horse at the very least.”

“You need money,” Brendon points out.

“I didn’t here—”

“Dude, I don’t think everybody we meet is going to be content with a _kiss_ for payment,” Brendon says, sounding kind of amused. “Don’t worry, though. We should stay in town for another day, maybe. Work out what to do. It’ll work out, you’ll see.”

“Yeah, I know,” Ryan says, and sinks underwater, washing the shampoo out from his hair. When he comes back up, Brendon’s humming to himself again, and even though he doesn’t mean to, Ryan ends up sneaking a glance over his shoulder. Brendon looks very human, in the warm glow of the candles up here, and Ryan can see the straight line of his back and the side profile of his face. His spine curves, showing up through his skin when Brendon leans forward to retrieve a dropped cake of soap and Ryan wonders absently what Brendon would do if Ryan traced his hand down the bumps in Brendon’s spine, warm and steady, all the way down until—

And then he cuts off that train of thought pretty quickly because seriously. _Seriously_.

“Okay, I’m getting out, don’t look,” Brendon announces, and Ryan turns pink but says something to the affirmative, anyway. He digs his nails into his forearm as punishment, watches his skin turn white and then red under the water.

*

They head downstairs to the dining room for dinner. Brendon’s limping a bit, but not so bad – the rest did him some good, and Ryan reties the bandana. It’s starting to look a bit bedraggled but it’ll do for another week at least, Ryan thinks, and hopefully Brendon’s ankle will be much better than that. Really, he knows that Brendon’s ankle isn’t going to get better unless he gets some proper and constant rest from walking, but Ryan doesn’t want to think about stopping for long. Pete is stupidly spontaneous, he knows, and any week, any _day_ Pete could decide to marry Ashlee. He bites his lip and is vaguely proud of himself when he doesn’t feel sick to the stomach at the very thought of it. He has _control_.

The dining room is full and busy, but Keltie appears at Ryan’s elbow and smiles quick and small, leads them to a table towards the back. She doesn’t show them a menu, just says, “I’ll be right back, boys,” and disappears back into the crowd. Brendon is grinning, staring around at the room, and Ryan feels a little bit overwhelmed, doesn’t understand how Brendon doesn’t too.

“Isn’t this weird for you?” he shouts, finally, leaning over so Brendon can hear him.

Brendon laughs, showing his teeth, and shakes his head. “It’s really cool,” he tells Ryan. He doesn’t yell as loud, but he leans closer, breath warm on Ryan’s ear. “I’ve never been this close to so many people. It’s different with stars.”

“Yeah,” Ryan agrees meaninglessly. Brendon is beaming around the room. He’s shining a little, a faint glow, but Ryan only notices because he keeps an eye out for it, and it’s mostly drowned by the light of the candles and torches that are everywhere in the room, bathing it in a flickering, orange light. Shadows are leaping on the walls; this is _Faerie_ , Ryan thinks in awe. It’s beyond impressive.

The boy who showed them to their rooms comes back with two bowls of hot vegetable soup. It tastes better than anything Ryan’s ever eaten before and neither of them speak as they shovel it down, dipping in the thick crusty bread that came with it and looking up occasionally to grin in enjoyment, Brendon rolling his eyes back into his head in mock-pleasure. The bowls aren’t that big, but Ryan’s surprised again by how filling it is. They’d skipped lunch again today but he’s already full after just one bowl. The boy returns with a bottle of red wine and two glasses and Ryan shrugs, pours each of them a glass. The wine is better than any other, too, but by this stage he’s stopped being so shocked by it.

The table they’re sitting at doesn’t have chairs; it’s in the corner, and there’s one long bench that twists with the corner. So far Ryan’s been on one side of the corner, Brendon on the other, but after the first glass Brendon scoots around, drops his head against Ryan’s shoulder. Ryan should have figured; Brendon’s never had alcohol before, and it affects him pretty quickly, but it’s not like he’s an annoying drunk. He just gets sleepier, slumping closer and closer to Ryan, until Ryan finally makes an impatient noise and tugs him close, slips an arm around his shoulders. Brendon smiles up at him; he’s shining steadily now.

Ryan goes back to people-watching. In the centre of the room, a man and a woman are shouting good-natured threats, and a small crowd of people are watching. The two keep casting various spells, trying to outdo each other, and Ryan’s not sure what it says about the past few days that he doesn’t really bat an eyelash at most of the stuff – strange shapes rearing up out of smoke, a cloud of multicoloured pixies bursting from a bottle of wine, a sudden rainstorm that leaves everyone completely dry. It’s mostly parlour tricks, Ryan realises with a start, things that just look impressive and don’t really do anything important at all.

Then the girl raises her hands, shouts something aloud, and every light in the room goes out. Except one.

Brendon’s not shining that brightly, but in the ten seconds that the darkness lasts for he’s the only source of light, silver and shimmering, raising his head suddenly at the realisation that the room’s dark. Ryan’s eyes go big – he’s not sure how the people in Faerie will react to the sudden discovery that someone in their midst is a star, but he’s willing to bet there are going to be a couple of reactions which aren’t pleasant.

When the flames flicker back into life everybody is staring, silently, at Brendon. Brendon ducks his head and shifts even closer to Ryan, and Ryan raises his chin defiantly and stares back, hand gripping Brendon’s shoulder as tightly as he can.

Suddenly, the tall man in a hat Ryan saw earlier vaults over two tables and lands in front of them. He’s tall, with dark, curly hair and equally dark eyes, and he views them impassively for a second before he turns around and shouts, “In the name of the Cobra and Captain Beckett I claim the star for myself!”

There is an immediate burst of noise; people look annoyed and amused and upset and furious, but no one steps forward to challenge the man. He turns back around to Ryan and Brendon, and Ryan slams to his feet, shaking with fury.

“Don’t you fucking _dare_ ,” he hisses, “you can’t _claim_ Brendon, I’ll fucking kill you if you even _try_ and touch him—”

“Seriously,” the man says, looking surprised and a little disturbed, “chill out, dude, I’m not going to try and steal your star or anything. But someone would’ve, and you both looked a little freaked, so.” He shrugs easily and steals Ryan’s wine glass, swallowing the last dregs.

Ryan sneaks a glance at Brendon; he seems to have sobered up enough, watching the man with sharp eyes, but he doesn’t look entirely unfriendly towards the stranger yet. Ryan tilts his head, raises his eyebrows at him. Brendon shrugs, and then nods once.

“Really?” Ryan asks coldly, but he sits down. Brendon is not as close, he can’t help but notice, has slipped away a little. The space between them feels strange. “What’s with the whole Captain and Cobra thing, then?”

“Oh,” the man says dismissively, “the Cobra’s nothing, really. Only I got really drunk one time, and started yelling about it, apparently? And it really freaks everyone out, so I try to work it into conversation now and again, you know. And Bill – that’s Captain Beckett – is the Captain of our ship. I’m Gabriel Saporta,” he adds.

Ryan exchanges another glance with Brendon; Brendon’s smiling, though, so Ryan leans forward to shake Gabriel’s outstretched hand. “Ryan,” he says. “Nice to meet you, Gabriel.”

“Gabe, please,” Gabe says, and then turns his grin on Brendon. “So, you’re a star?”

“I fell,” Brendon says, shrugging. “Brendon Urie.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Gabe says.

“You’ve a ship?” Ryan asks, still suspicious. “I haven’t seen any seas. Apart from the inland one. You just go round and round on that?”

Gabe laughs, warm and easy. “I didn’t say we sailed in the sea,” he says.

Brendon leans forward at that, eyes bright. “ _Really_?” he asks. “You’ve got a sky ship?”

“Captain _Beckett_ has a sky ship,” Gabe corrects, “but yeah. We do.” He pauses, looks at each of them, an eager Brendon, a very confused Ryan, and smiles, flashing all his teeth. “Why? You boys going somewhere?”

*

A sky ship, it turns out, doesn’t need a sea to sail on. Brendon and Gabe talk fast, deals and bargains and fast, quick battles of words, swapping comments with dark innuendo fast and easy. Ryan has trouble following it, and feels like he’s been knocked off-balance yet again; he’s never thought of Brendon as threatening, not even when they first met and Brendon was surly and pissed off, but now Brendon talks fast, clever and self-assured. It’s a little disconcerting.

In the end, though, the deal’s sorted: Gabe will talk to Captain Beckett, who he’s fairly sure will allow Brendon and Ryan to come aboard the ship for the two weeks it will take them to get a mile outside of the Wall. Then, Brendon and Ryan will be able to go home (well, _Ryan_ will be able to go home; Brendon’s home is harder to get to, _up up and away_ he thinks absently) and Ryan will be able to win the heart of his True Love. In return, Brendon will teach them some of the star songs, the ones that charm lightning down, because this, Ryan is told, is what the sky ship is for; a lightning gatherer. Lightning, Gabe tells Ryan, grinning, is incredibly precious, highly coveted by magicians and elves. Only the best ships can hunt it down. Captain Beckett’s, Gabe tells them, is one of the best.

They arrange to meet out front at ten the next morning, and Gabe and Brendon shake hands again. Ryan blinks at them, still confused; the whole conversation has swept over him. He didn’t really need to do anything, he thinks, Brendon took care of the whole thing. It’s strange – he wouldn’t have expected Brendon to be so good with dealing with people. He’s a star, after all. Ryan touches Brendon’s forearm just lightly, to remind himself of it, and the slight silver light fall over Ryan’s fingers, illuminates them in a soft light. Brendon looks at him, and nods.

“We’ll see you in the morning then,” he says, and Gabe nods and bids them good night.

Ryan and Brendon go to leave the room, and Ryan slings an arm around Brendon’s waist automatically when he notices him limping again. Brendon leans back against him gratefully. They’re almost out the door when Gabe’s voice makes them turn around.

“Hey, Ryan!” Gabe calls. Ryan raises an eyebrow and Gabe grins wickedly. “Why d’you have a plastic sword strapped to your waist?”

“Oh,” Brendon says, sinking back against the wall. “Thank _God_ someone finally asked.”

*

Brendon shakes him awake in the middle of a particularly awful nightmare later on, and Ryan sits up, gasping. “Hey,” Brendon murmurs, voice soft, “hey, you okay? It’s alright. It was just a bad dream. It’s alright, Ryan.”

“Yeah,” Ryan says, blindly reaching for the glass of water by his bed. He gulps from it steadily, and Brendon hovers next to him, absently smoothing Ryan’s sweaty hair back from his forehead. His touch is cool, but not unpleasantly so.

Ryan lets out a breath, sets the glass down. “Is it time to get up?” he asks.

“No,” Brendon says, smiling a little bit. “No, it’s, like, the middle of the night. I just – you sounded upset.”

“Oh,” Ryan says, and turns a bit red. “Oh, thanks. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Brendon looks away; the expression on his face is weirdly disappointed. “You didn’t,” he says, and then takes a breath like he’s going to say something else. He swallows it down, though, and eventually just repeats, “You didn’t.”

“Right,” Ryan says, still confused. “Okay, well. Go back to sleep.”

“Yeah,” Brendon says, and pads back to his own bed.

Ryan turns on his side and closes his eyes, ignores the last remnants of the nightmare. When he opens his eyes again it’s morning, and Brendon is singing as he gets dressed.

*

Gabe is waiting out front for them, with his huge ridiculous hat and the woman who had been casting spells last night. She introduces herself as Victoria and smiles thinly at them; she is very beautiful, and also kind of frightening. Ryan tries not to giggle when Brendon shrinks back against him at her cool glance. Gabe tells them that Bil—Captain _Beckett_ has no objection to them joining the crew for two weeks, especially as Brendon will no doubt be very helpful with his spells.

“Actually,” Victoria says in a low voice, taking a drag on her cigarette, “Sisky and Nate heard about you, and were so excited about the prospect of having a real live star onboard that the Captain didn’t have the heart to say no.” She pauses and then glances down at Brendon’s ankle. “I can fix that up for you, if you’d like,” she offers, and Brendon brightens.

“Really?” he asks.

“Sure,” she says. “Come find me when we’re onboard.”

*

The sky ship is – beyond anything Ryan has ever thought or dreamed about, before. It’s anchored by ropes to the ground, a little way out of town, and Ryan doesn’t know how they didn’t notice it when they were up on the hill. Gabe just shrugs when he mentions it, says the ship’s got a mind of it’s own, really, won’t be seen unless it wants to be. It’s drifting a couple of metres above the ground, and when they get close enough a rope ladder tumbles over the edge towards them.

Brendon goes to climb up it first, and then hesitates. Putting weight on his foot is unavoidable and he hisses softly through his teeth at the first step; the second makes his hands go white, clenching onto the rope. “Shit,” Ryan murmurs, head dropping.

“Yeah, this isn’t going to work,” Victoria declares, dropping her cigarette and grinding it beneath her foot. “Hey, Brendon? Don’t freak out, okay, everything’s gonna be fine,” and then she makes an odd gesture and Brendon goes flying up into the air, soaring easily up towards the railing and then over it. Ryan makes an odd, squawking noise and panics for a total of twenty seconds before Brendon sticks his head over the railing and waves cheerfully, grinning down at him.

By the time Ryan’s gotten up, Brendon’s already chatting animatedly to about seven people, including a crazily beautiful, willowy looking young man with a scarf tied around his leg and long hair that goes down to his shoulders, who has a companionable arm slung around Brendon’s shoulders. Brendon looks up and smiles brightly at Ryan and says, “Hey! This is the crew of the Santi, dude – and this is Bill, uh, Captain Beckett. Sorry,” he adds to the beautiful guy who smiles at him and shrugs it off.

“Captain Beckett,” Ryan repeats flatly, looking at him. The Captain’s fingers are tapping a loose, easy pattern on Brendon’s shoulder, Ryan can’t help but notice. “Right. Of course you are.”

*

The crew of the Santi are actually pretty cool, despite their stupid whore of a captain (who is actually kind of nice, Ryan knows deep down – but, no! Stupid and whorish!). Some guy called the Butcher with tattoos that rival Frank’s (only in number; all of the Butcher’s are stationary) whirls him away for a tour of the ship, which takes almost two hours, and somehow he ends up playing guitar with a bunch of them. He’s kept busy all day, which is good, he supposes, because it’s not like he’s been _totally_ abandoned.

He hasn’t seen Brendon since they put their stuff away in the cabin they'll be sharing.

He _doesn’t_ see Brendon, in fact, until dinner time. Brendon’s walking with the Captain and Gabe, talking animatedly and without a hint of a limp. When he sees Ryan he beams, heads over and says, “Hey, where have you been?”

“Look who’s talking,” Ryan mumbles, and toes the floor uncomfortably.

“What?” Brendon asks, looking confused, eyebrows going up. Ryan sighs loudly.

“Nothing,” he says. “What happened to your foot?”

“Oh!” Brendon says, grinning again. “Vicky T fixed it up for me.” He gestures at Victoria and Ryan raises an eyebrow, echoes in a drawling, rude voice _Vicky T_. Brendon quiets, looks away. Ryan is viciously pleased.

At dinner they don’t speak at all. It’s sort of weird, because if it was just them, like normal, it would be awkward; as it is, though, they’re surrounded by a bustling, rowdy crew and the fact that they talk to everyone but each other disguises the heavy silence lying between them. Ryan knows that Brendon’s angry, though, feels how tense he is, sitting upright next to Ryan, notices how carefully he doesn’t look at Ryan.

They stay up late – the crew tells stories, laughs and sings, and Ryan plays guitar for a little while again. He thinks he feels Brendon’s eyes on him but when he looks up Brendon’s talking to the Captain again, leaning forward, hands dangling between his knees. Eventually, though, there’s no avoiding it, and Gabe says, “Right, everyone! Off to bed with you!”

Sisky leads them to their cabin again (the ship is huge, and hard to navigate) and Ryan talks to him about how long he’s been on the Santi and how much he likes it and how he got his job in the first place (since they first started, he loves it more than anything else, he knew the Butcher who knew Mike who’s known the Captain since they were small boys). He feels a little bit guilty, asking Sisky all these personal questions just to avoid talking to Brendon, but he is genuinely interested, so he figures it’s not too mean.

When they get into the cabin, though, Sisky bids them a cheerful goodnight and disappears. Ryan turns his back to Brendon and makes a big deal about crawling out of his jeans and taking his vest off, ready to sleep in his shirt and boxers, but when he turns around Brendon’s watching him with a funny expression, arms folded over his chest.

“So,” Brendon says and his voice sounds odd and strained, “you wanna tell me what the fuck I’ve done?”

Ryan stares at him. “Not really,” he says. “I want to sleep.”

“Don’t be a jerk, Ryan,” Brendon hisses, and Ryan whirls around and glares at him.

“I’m a jerk? Fine then, I’ll be a motherfucking jerk, but you’re stupid and naïve and irresponsible – you really think it’s a good idea to sleep with the goddamn Captain? Yeah, why the fuck are you even in here, Brendon? I bet his cabin’s a lot comfier, and you can go back to messing with our journey home—”

“ _Our_ journey!” Brendon shouts, voice cracking. “In case you’ve forgotten, Ryan _Ross_ , this is your fucking journey home, to your True Fucking Love, and I’m just tagging along as your weirdass courting gift. And I can’t _believe_ you’d try and fucking bring William into this as some demented—”

“Oooh, now I’m _bringing William into this_ , am I?” Ryan asks nastily. “Wouldn’t want your _boyfriend_ to get involved, wouldn’t want—”

“You know what?” Brendon says, voice harsh. “I think the whole Not Talking thing was a good idea, let’s go back to that.” He blows out the candles vehemently and climbs into the bottom bunk. When he pulls the covers over his head, the slight light he’s giving off is dim enough to be hidden completely. Ryan lets out a shuddering breath and follows his example, crawls up into the top bunk. He takes a long time to go to sleep.

*

Only the nightmares come back again. Ryan can never remember what they were when he wakes up; he’s always left with vague impressions of shadows and monsters and people dying. Last night it had been Spencer screaming, eyes huge and pleading, but tonight it’s Brendon, and he doesn’t scream and he doesn’t cry, he just looks at Ryan with a face that is quiet and resigned and Ryan tries to move and save him but he can’t.

He wakes up to Brendon shaking him again. He sits up, gasping, and promptly bangs his forehead into Brendon’s, hard, and they both hiss at the sudden throb. “Jesus, Ross,” Brendon mutters, disappearing back into his bunk. “Go back to sleep.” Brendon’s still pissed, then. Ryan takes a deep breath and tries not to let it bother him.

He lies back down and presses his shaking hands between his thighs, closes his eyes and tries to go back to sleep. He keeps _seeing_ things in the shadows of the cabin, though, and the odd way the ship moves through the air unsettles him until he’s shaking and breathing raggedly again. “Fuck,” he mumbles in a small voice, and then repeats it, even though it doesn’t do anything to get rid of the leering shadows: “Fuck.”

And suddenly there’s a soft glow, silver light flooding the room and Brendon’s shoving at his shoulder, face tired and kind of annoyed. “Move over,” he says, and Ryan does without thinking and then Brendon clambers up beside him, under the covers. “It was just a bad dream, asshole,” he says firmly. “Are you listening to me? It was a nightmare, Ryan. It’s not real.”

“Yeah,” Ryan whispers. “Yeah, I know.” He lies there for a second, Brendon warm at his back, and then makes a small, choking noise, says, “Sorry, I need—” and rolls back over, clenches his fists in Brendon’s shirt and scoots closer, pressing his face against Brendon’s skin, breathing in his warm, clean scent.

“Hey,” Brendon mumbles, rubs a soothing hand in circles on Ryan’s back. “Hey, it’s okay.”

“I fucking hate – it was this stupid shitty monster thing,” Ryan says, words tripping over each other. He feels stupid and awkward, and Brendon’s being too nice, and he’s still furious at Brendon for fucking flirting with _William_ , seriously, but he can’t seem to stop talking, either. “I keep, I dream about it on and off. And it had you and I’m really – I couldn’t get it to stop and – fuck, Brendon, please don’t be mad at me.” And that’s. Not what he meant to say, actually, and Brendon’s hand stills for a moment before it starts moving again, slow circles. Ryan takes in a deep breath.

“You were kind of an asshole,” Brendon points out evenly. “William’s nice. You shouldn’t leap to conclusions, Ryan, it’s fucking annoying.”

“Right,” Ryan says miserably. “But even if you were. I mean. It wouldn’t matter. And you were right, about the whole. Being shitty to you thing. I guess – I don’t think it’s that good an idea to sleep with the Captain of the ship you’re getting a ride on practically for free, but if you’re sure and stuff—”

“Ryan,” Brendon says, sounding amused. “Ryan, did you not notice the bit where William and Gabe are, uh, together?”

“Um,” Ryan says. He starts smiling against Brendon’s shirt, can’t help it; something strange and giddy flooding through his veins. “No,” he says. “I didn’t.”

Brendon laughs softly and says, “Go to sleep, Ryan. I’ll stay here tonight, okay?”

Brendon is too forgiving, Ryan thinks miserably, even though he’s glad about it. Brendon is too forgiving and he was right, Ryan’s kind of an asshole, and he really doesn’t deserve a star like this, doesn’t deserve a star at _all_ but especially doesn’t deserve a star like Brendon. “Okay,” is all he says, though. “Thank you. Goodnight.”

“Night,” Brendon says, and then he drops a light kiss onto the top of Ryan’s head. Ryan stills, curls his fingers tighter in Brendon’s shirt and then he leans up, just enough that he can press a close-mouthed, tiny kiss against the hollow of Brendon’s throat. He feels Brendon take a deep breath, the swell of his lungs. Then he closes his eyes and goes to sleep.

*

He thinks for a moment, when he wakes up, that Brendon’s probably still mad, has probably gotten up and today they’re going to ignore each other again because Ryan is really, really shitty at apologising when it’s not ass o’clock in the morning and he’s been dreaming about people dying. Brendon’s there, though, snuffling a little bit into Ryan’s pillow in a way that Ryan has to try really hard not to find adorable. Ryan shifts a little closer to Brendon’s warmth; his heart is beating really, weirdly fast and he remembers the odd, gentle way Brendon had kissed his head last night, and how warm and comforting he’d been, and Pete seems very, very far away. Ryan takes a breath and cracks open one eye.

“Blargh,” he says. Brendon’s here, but he’s not the only one. Ryland and Alex beam at him and start singing softly. Ryan hears a soft chorus of _Helloooo!_ s and not much else. He blinks stupidly at them. Ryland makes a reproachful face.

“Gabe sings along,” he says.

Ryan doesn’t know what to say, really, but Brendon starts to shift. “Hey,” he says, “Brendon’s still sleeping, and the last few days have been kind of crazy for him, so could you maybe just—”

“M’awake,” Brendon says, and Ryan makes a face and crawls out of bed.

*

It’s easy to fall into a routine on the Santi. The ship is surprisingly good at taking care of itself, which is why they have such a small crew, and it’s pretty smooth sailing most of the time. It goes really high, drifting through the clouds, which is frightening at first but it’s kind of cool, how quickly Ryan gets used to it. Gabe tells him there’s magical barriers all around the ship, too, to stop accidents – “There’s rules about this kind of thing,” Gabe says. “I mean, there’s always rules. Even in Faerie. But especially with lightning-catchers, because it gets pretty fucking dangerous, you know. That’s why we’ve got Victoria – she’s a magician, so she helps us out with stuff. It’ll be good to know Brendon’s songs, too.”

Ryan starts to see what he means when they’re in the first storm. It’s almost terrifying, up there; Ryan stays on deck but hunched into a corner, back pressed up against the wooden door leading into William’s chambers (he sort of forgets to call him Captain Beckett in his head after a while; Brendon was right, and William really is pretty cool) because he doesn’t want Brendon to have to be all on his own out there. Technically, of course, the rest of the crew is out there, too, shouting orders, but Brendon’s the one standing right in the bow, eyes closed, face turned up to the storm, and Ryan’s the one who’s been with him since the _beginning_. They owe each other, he figures, and does not go inside, even though he wants to.

Ryan doesn’t even know how it works; he just sees lightning flashing and the men’s triumphant shouts, and afterwards William tells him it was a very successful storm. The only clear images he has of it is Brendon standing up the front, singing (even though he can’t hear the sound over the storm) and how afterwards, Brendon tumbles towards him, soaking wet and shaking, and Ryan clings tight, even though he thinks this is a really, really bad idea. It’s an awful idea, and Brendon’s a star, and Ryan’s just an ordinary human with a True Love at home that he has to win over, but Brendon turns his face up and whispers, “It was – I was so close. I felt like I could almost get back up there again. I was so close.”

“Isn’t there a way?” Ryan asks, pulling Brendon close to him and holding on. “Can’t you – isn’t there some magic? Vicky T might know—”

Brendon shakes his head. “I asked. But – there’s never been a story about it, anyway. Stars can’t go back, I guess.” He laughs hoarsely, and it sounds suspiciously close to tears.

Ryan hums mindless, calming tunes, and tries not to wonder how cruel he must be for the fact that he doesn’t _want_ Brendon to get back up amongst the stars.

*

Two weeks drift by surprisingly quickly, and Ryan’s not really expecting it when Gabe comes up to him and says, smiling, “We’ll drop you guys off tomorrow. You’re almost home, Ryan Ross.” Ryan knows Gabe means to make him cheerful and he nods back, smiling, but can’t help hugging his stomach. He’s missed Spencer, he thinks to himself. He’s missed Spencer, and. And it’s good that he’s going to see Pete, now, because Pete’s his True Love and Pete will know it too once Ryan shows him how Ryan went and fetched a star just to prove how much he loved—

He stops, outside the mess. Brendon is perched on the table, grinning, kicking his feet and listening to William sing. He looks really happy. William’s probably finally getting the songs Brendon’s been trying to teach him right, Ryan thinks, it would just be rude to interrupt them to tell Brendon the news now.

He waits until during dinner, and Brendon stills a little bit, but then shrugs and grins and says, “Awesome,” and digs back into his meal. Ryan’s kind of lost his appetite. He pushes his plate away and says something meaningless about having snacked all afternoon. Ryland wags a reprimanding finger at him and Ryan thinks it would be pretty cool just to stay on this ship forever.

The night is warm, and even though it’s never really cloudless up here tonight they’re wispy enough that they can see the stars and the moon, huge and close up on the deck. They sit around and play music, and William sings – he really does have a lovely voice, and it sounds even better when Gabe joins in – and it’s nice, it really is, listening to old, soft folk songs and humming along, but after a while Ryan’s throat starts to feel tight and his head is spinning. He mumbles some excuse and gets up, wanders off and around to some hidden part of the deck, where they can’t see him lean off the rails and breathe in the sweet, cold air. It was the different air that he noticed first, he thinks. It’s hard to remember. He feels like he’s been in Faerie forever.

“I’ll never forgive you if you fall,” Brendon says from behind him. He sounds amused. “Only I can pull that shit off, dude.”

Ryan turns and smiles at him. His skin feels tight. He doesn’t want to blush, doesn’t want to stare at his feet in case Brendon catches him looking, not like when he’s near Pete. He kind of just wants to watch forever. He thinks Brendon would probably get a little bit creeped out after a while, though. “I’m not going to fall,” he says pointlessly.

“I know,” Brendon tells him. He moves closer. His hands are in his pockets, and the light of the stars and the moon falls on him in a weird way, making it so that Ryan can’t even see his shine. “You look kind of down,” he offers.

“I’m tired,” Ryan says. “It will be good to be home. Bed, hot food, normalcy. You know.”

Brendon laughs. “When are things ever normal in Faerie?” he asks, grinning.

“Oh,” Ryan says, surprised. “But I don’t live in Faerie. I live – in Wall, you know, the village. Just beyond the border. You knew that, didn’t you?”

Brendon blinks at him, eyes huge, mouth open a little. “No,” he says, “I didn’t – you didn’t tell me. Fuck. Wow. I always thought you just lived in one of the villages near the Wall.”

“Um,” Ryan says stupidly. He’s not sure what to say. “Does it matter?”

Brendon looks at him out of the corner of his eye, opens his mouth and then shuts it again. “No,” he says slowly. “It doesn’t.” They’re silent for a moment more; Brendon comes and stands next to Ryan, props his forearms on the rail and leans forward, face raised up to the moon. Finally he says, half-whispers, “Wanna dance with me?”

“What?”

“Dance with me,” Brendon repeats, turning back towards him. The music from the other guys is still clear in the night. Ryan blinks at Brendon, and Brendon tugs at his hands, pulling him away from the railing.

“Okay,” Ryan says, and laughs suddenly. “Sure.”

Brendon smiles at him and says, “I’ll be nice and let you be the man,” and puts one hand on Ryan’s shoulder, clasps their other hands together. Ryan awkwardly puts his hand at Brendon’s waist and shifts slowly to the music, gaining confidence when Brendon hums along and steps closer, hooks his chin over Ryan’s shoulder. It’s warm and close and comfortable, and Ryan just wishes he knew what Brendon’s face looked like at the moment.

They dance to two songs, just slow, turning round and round, and then the music stops and laughter and talk drifts over. It takes them a while to stop moving, anyway; Ryan doesn’t even really notice that the guys have stopped playing until Brendon steps away, smiles at him.

“We should get an early night,” Brendon says. “Tomorrow’s a big day, dude. Wooing Pete and stuff.”

Ryan really wishes Brendon hadn’t brought Pete up. He nods, though, and they turn together, go back inside.

*

It’s harder saying goodbye to the crew than he’d expected. He doesn’t really realise how much he’s going to miss them until Gabe’s hugging him goodbye, and Ryan _likes_ Gabe. Gabe’s awesome and funny and has the best dirty jokes ever and also knows a lot of cool stuff about ships. And then Ryan thinks about Ryland and Alex and their good morning songs and Vicky T and her cigarettes and—

“Okay,” Brendon says firmly, “Ryan’s having a little girly fit right now, so we’re gonna go. Thanks a lot. For everything.” Then he takes Ryan’s elbow and they walk away, onto the main road that leads towards Wall.

Ryan gets over his emo pretty quickly simply by being surprised; there are a _lot_ of people on the road. People in brightly painted caravans, fairies and elves and dwarves and magicians, and almost all of them have carts of some kind, and strange looking goods piled on them. “What’s going on?” Ryan wonders aloud and Brendon shakes his head in confusion, staring around.

It’s only when they get to the meadow outside the Wall and Ryan sees the hundreds of familiar faces milling around that he realises what it is. “Oh my God,” he says. “Oh my God, Brendon, it’s the _fair_. But I don’t – I’ve only been gone three weeks! How has—”

“Time passes differently in Faerie,” Brendon says slowly, and then suddenly someone slams into Ryan, knocks him off balance.

“Oof!” Ryan says.

“You utter, utter _asshole_ ,” Spencer cries, and hugs Ryan tight. “I can’t believe you _did_ that, oh my God, what the fuck is _wrong_ with you – I said go fetch a shooting star, I didn’t say go on a huge fucking odyssey to discover your true manhood—”

“Hey,” Ryan says, grinning, “I’m very secure in my manhood, okay.” He hugs Spencer back, and says, “As far as I know, I’ve only been gone three weeks, Spence. Time passes weirdly, here—”

“Fourteen months you’ve been gone,” Spencer says, glaring at him. “Fourteen _months_ , and I had to tell everyone the real story after six, and Pete’s gone pretty much crazy with guilt – or, well, you know, not crazy, but he and Patrick and the two bartenders from The Patron Saint formed this band and Pete wears a lot of eyeliner and writes depressed lyrics, and—”

“So Pete didn’t marry Ashlee, then?” Brendon says, and Spencer starts, pulls away from Ryan.

“Who are you?” he asks, frowning.

“I’m the star,” Brendon says, smiling crookedly, and makes an odd little bow. Spencer blinks at him, and Brendon shrugs. “It’s true,” he says. “Ryan was freaked at first too though, don’t worry.”

Ryan nods. “It is,” he agrees. “True, I mean, I was totally unfreaked about it.” He grins at Brendon. “He still shines at night.”

Brendon smiles back and Spencer bounces a quick look between them, fast and calculating. Ryan blinks, and Brendon stops smiling. “We should go find your True Love, Ross,” he says. “Tell him to write some cheerful lyrics, and make sure he hasn’t married the Simpson Wench.”

“Right,” Ryan says. Spencer stares at him and Ryan offers him a helpless smile. “I’ll see you in a sec, Spence,” he tells him, and then he reaches out. Brendon takes his hand gravely and smiles a little shakily.

“Pity it’s morning,” Brendon says.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Brendon says. “Let’s go through your Wall, then. I’d like to see your home.”

They walk slowly, side by side. Ryan thinks it’s a little stupid and a little weird of him to keep holding Brendon’s hand, but Brendon doesn’t seem to mind and when they get close to the Wall Brendon’s grip _tightens_ , if anything. Ryan smiles at him. “I’m a little nervous,” he admits.

“Don’t be,” Brendon says, steadily. “There’s nothing to be afraid of anymore.”

Ryan shrugs and goes to step through the gap when he hears a shout behind him.

“Ryan Ross!” Ryan whirls around automatically, and his mouth falls open a little when he sees Pete Wentz rushing towards him. “Jesus, is that you?”

“Uh,” Ryan says, cleverly. “Hi.”

“I’m sorry,” Brendon says softly, in his ear, “I have to – I’ll be right back. Call when you need me, okay?”

Ryan turns but Brendon’s already gone, melted back into the crowd. Ryan swallows hard and stares at Pete.

“Jesus,” Pete says again, “do you have any idea how much you scared everyone?” He smiles, but he looks a little frightened himself, and he tugs Ryan into a firm hug. “Don’t do that again, kid.”

Ryan takes a breath. Pete still calls him kid, he thinks, but he guesses he can work with that. “I brought you back a star,” he mumbles into Pete’s hug.

Pete lets him go, steps back. His eyes are wide. “Really?” he asks, and touches his fingers to his open mouth. “I didn’t think it was actually possible, when Spencer said.”

Ryan nods. “Spencer said you liked grand gestures, and I. Actually, it was probably Spencer that made me think of the whole star thing. I didn’t really come up with that one on my own. But I went and got him – stars are people, you know that? When they land – on my own. Although. I guess Br– the star himself helped a fair bit on the way home.”

“Oh,” Pete says. He takes a shaky breath and says, “Look, Ryan. I’m – me and Ashlee are pretty, pretty crazy, but I really like you. I don’t think you ever noticed that. And you went and got the star and everything, and that’s pretty amazing.”

“Not really,” Ryan says, and shoves his hands in his pockets. He looks at Pete curiously. “You and Ashlee are pretty crazy what?”

“Uh.” Pete scuffs the ground with his foot and looks a little foolish. “I don’t know, it’s just. Crazy, you know, she makes me weird. Er. Than normal. But – you went to _Faerie_.”

Ryan looks down and wonders why he feels like he’s lying when he says, “Yeah. But if you and Ashlee—”

“Ryan,” Pete says, quietly. “I think you and me are pretty similar. And I think we could have fun. And you brought me a _star_.” He draws in a shaky breath and then draws Ryan back into a hug. “If – if you – we can get married. Because you love me and I love you too, and it doesn’t always have to be perfect, and we’d be good together.” He presses a light kiss into Ryan’s hair, and Ryan twists his fingers in Pete’s jumper, raises his head. He feels dizzy, a little unpleasantly so, but he’s pretty sure that’s what’s meant to happen. He leans in.

“Hey,” Pete breathes, when their mouths are inches apart. “Hey, you didn’t take the star into Wall yet, did you? I’d like to meet it before, you know.”

“Before what?” Ryan whispers.

“Didn’t you know?” Pete says, sounding surprised. “You take a star into Wall and they turn into a metallic kind of rock, you know. You can’t change them back, they’re only alive when they’re in Faerie.”

“ _What_?” Ryan says, and jolts backwards, letting go of Pete’s shirt. “Fuck, are you – are you serious?” Pete nods, staring at him and Ryan runs his hands through his hair. “But I almost – oh my God.” He lets out a shaky breath and stares at Pete as though he’s seeing him for the first time. “Fuck, okay, Pete, you should marry Ashlee. Because you and me are being stupid and I was _more_ stupid but you’re being silly now. And I. I have to find someone, excuse me.”

He ducks away and Pete stares after him, but Ryan’s already hurrying through the crowd. He bangs straight into someone, and they reach out and steady him, firm, warm hands. “Oh, Ryan!” the person says and Ryan looks up and blinks, because it’s Frank. “Shit, how are you?” Frank asks, grinning. “Did you find your star?”

“Uh, yeah,” Ryan says. “But I’ve just lost him again, and I just need to—” He makes a strange gesture with his hand and Frank laughs and lets him go.

“Come back and say hi soon,” he says. “We’ll be here all day. Gerard gets really excited at these things, he loves them.”

Ryan nods and pushes through the crowd; finds Spencer and says “Jesus Christ, I’m the motherfucking stupidest person you’ve ever met,” and Spencer nods and says, “Probably,” and doesn’t ask why before Ryan dashes off again. He bangs into Jon and gives him a quick hug before running away, and he thinks he sees Keltie at a stall giving off warm, yummy scents and Mikey Way talking to a girl who’s holding the halter of – of a Unicorn, wow, but he pushes through, rocking up on tiptoe on occasion to try and see Brendon in the crowd.

It’s not until he gets out to the edge of the mass of the people, away from the main stalls, that he finally spots him, walking along by the stream and peering up the bank now and again. Brendon sees Ryan easily and heads up the bank to meet him, smiles at him. “Did you need me to come say hi to Pete now?” Brendon asks, easily. “I can probably shine a little bit, though we might need to go somewhere dark.”

“You didn’t _tell_ me about the Wall,” Ryan says, and thumps Brendon hard in the chest. Brendon takes a step back, looking stricken. “You didn’t _tell_ me,” Ryan says again, “and I almost took you through, and you would have turned into a motherfucking _rock_.”

“Um,” Brendon says, sounding unsure. “I wasn’t—”

“You’re an _idiot_ ,” Ryan says, in a rush, “and I’m probably more of an idiot, or – no, okay, you’re the biggest idiot here because you didn’t tell me that you were going to turn into a _rock_.”

Brendon looks to the side and says, “I don’t.” He stops and takes a breath, asks in a low voice, “Did you want me to meet—”

“Will you _shut up_ about Pete,” Ryan says. “I’m in love with you and it would be pretty stupid if I married Pete despite that, wouldn’t it?”

Brendon goes very still for a moment, and then he looks up at Ryan through his eyelashes and starts to smile. Ryan grins back at him, the fullest, brightest smile he can possibly summon up, while trying to sneakily sidle closer, and then Brendon curls his fingers in Ryan’s shirt and tugs him close, bends his head and rests it against Ryan’s chest.

“Fuck,” Brendon says, quietly. “Fuck, you have no idea—”

“I have _every_ idea,” Ryan says fiercely, and Brendon starts to laugh. He’s still laughing when Ryan shifts enough that he can lean forward, and he keeps giggling for a few seconds when Ryan touches their mouths together, soft and unsure.

“Hey,” Brendon whispers, and he’s so close that Ryan goes a little cross-eyed looking at him. Ryan can feel his lips moving and it’s a little weird and a lot awesome, and he’s more than a little annoyed when Brendon shifts back, just minutely. “What do we do now?”

“Well,” Ryan says reasonably, “you can’t go into Wall, and I’ve kind of gotten fond of Faerie. So I thought maybe we could just stay. There’s some people I met on the road here, and they probably won’t mind us tagging along for a little while.”

“Won’t you miss your friends? What about your family?”

“I can visit,” Ryan tells him. “And Spencer and Jon don’t know it yet but they’re probably going to come with us one of these days. They’re awesome. You’ll like them.”

“Okay,” Brendon says, and then adds, grinning a little bit, “I like you, anyway, so.” Then he rocks up towards Ryan and they’re kissing properly, Brendon clenching Ryan’s collar in his hands and dragging him down towards him, and Ryan hears a few wolf whistles from the market but can’t bring himself to care. Brendon is warm, Ryan thinks, leaning into him, not the strange combination of wind and sky he feels like so often; just warm, and right there.

Ryan breaks away and draws in a shuddering breath, and Brendon shines.


End file.
